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Emvifc  Swing. 


Born,  Cincinnati,  Ohio, 
August  23,  1830. 

Instructor  in  Greek  and  Latin 

at    Miami    University,    Oxford,   Ohio, 

1853   to    1866. 

Pastor  of  Westminster,  North  Presbyterian,  and 

Fourth  Presbyterian  Churches, 

Chicago, 

1866  to   1875. 

Pastor  of  the  Central  Church, 

Chicago, 

1875  to    1894. 

Died,  Chicago,  October  3,  1894. 


David  Swing: 


gt  (ttlemortaf  (gofume. 


TEN  SERMONS, 

Selected  and  Prepared  for  Publication  by  Himself 


Together  with  a  Biographical  Sketch,  Tributes  Called 
Out    by    His    Death,    The    Last    Sermon    He    Ever 
Preached,  and   His   Unfinished  Sermon;    Also, 
A   Brief   History  of  the  Central  Church, 
The  Events  which  Led  to  Its  Organi- 
zation,  and    the  First   Sermon 
Preached   Before  that 
Congregation. 


compiled  by  his  daughter, 
Helen  Swing   Starring. 


F.    TENNYSON    NEELY, 

Publisher,       Chicago, 
mdcccxciv.       New  York. 


Copyright,  1894, 

BY 

Helen  Swing  Starring. 


CONTENTS. 


Poem  —  Consider  B.  Carter, 10 

Preface, 11 

Biographical  Sketch  —  Frank  Gilbert, 13 

History  of  the  Central  Church  —  Thomas  S.  Chard,  23 

Ten  Sermons — 

The  Simpler  and  Greater  Religion, 29 

The  Modern  Christian  Faith, 48 

Phillips  Brooks, 68 

New  Times  Make  New  Men, 88 

Things  and  Men, 108 

Immorality, 127 

Devotion  and  Work, 147 

Radicalism  —  Root  and  Branch, 167 

The  Gentleman  of  the  New  School  —  Rutherford   li. 

Hayes, 185 

Our  New  Era, 205 

Tributes  — 

Poem  —  Dr.  Frank  W.  Gunsaulus, 225 

Funeral  Sermon  —  Dr.  Barrows, 228 

The  Poet  Preacher  —  Sermon  by  Dr.  Emil  G.  Hirsch,  247 

Sermon  —  Dr.  Frank  W.  Gunsaulus, 278 

Sermon  —  Dr.  Thomas  Hall 304 

Sermon  — Dr.  H.  W.  Thomas, 310 

Sermon  — Dr.  F.  A.  Noble, 325 

Extract  from  Sermon  —  Bishop  Fallows, 355 

Extract  from  Sermon  —  Rev.  H.  A.  Delano,       ....  358 

Extract  from  Sermon  —  Rev.  J.  P.  Brushingham,     .     .  361 

Extract  from  Sermon  —  Rev.  T.  W.  Handford,      ...  366 

Resolutions  of  Fourth  Presbyterian  Church,    .     .  368 

Reasons   for  Withdrawal   from   Fourth   Presbyte- 
rian Church, 370 

Reasons  for  a  Central  Church, 373 

Last  Sermon  Delivered  by  David  Swing,      ....  391 

Unfinished  Sermon, 412 


2>avfo  Swing. 


His  uol)le  soul  passed  with  the  fading  year — 

When  all  the  flowers  he  loved,  with  drooping  heads, 

Had  laid  them  down  to  sleep  in  winter  beds, 

The  poet  fell  asleep  upon  his  bier. 

Oh,  steadfast  friends,  with  grieving  hearts  draw  near, 

And  bear  all  gently  to  his  dreamless  sleep 

The  faithful  pastor,  minister  and  seer, 

While  men  of  all  religions  pray  and  weep. 

Large  was  his  faith  and  hope  —  his  very  name 

A  synonym  for  pure  and  noble  deeds; 

The  passion  of  his  theme  a  kindling  flame. 

His  Christian  spirit  greater  than  all  creeds  — 

Thus,  loving  men  of  every  clime  and  name, 

He  fell  asleep  in  death  and  rose  to  fame. 

Consider  B.  Oartku. 


preface. 

The  great  Chicago  fire  of  1871  destroyed 
every  sermon  which  David  Swing  had  written  up 
to  that  date.  He  always  insisted  that  he  was  glad 
to  have  them  put  forever  beyond  the  reach  of 
publication.  To  his  thinking,  a  sermon  was 
manna  for  a  day,  or,  at  least,  a  sermon  might  be 
excellent  in  itself,  yet  unsuited  for  publication  in 
book  form.  For  a  long  time  he  positively  refused 
to  have  his  sermons  published  in  book  form 
except  as  essays;  but,  fortunately,  in  the  spring  of 
'94,  he  consented  to  prepare  a  volume  of  sermons 
for  publication.  Those  sermons,  ten  in  number, 
form  the  main  feature  of  the  volume  herewith 
presented  to  the  public.  As  Moses  gave  many 
laws  and  precepts,  but  put  upon  a  plane  apart 
from  all  others  the  Ten  Commandments,  so  these 
ten  sermons  stand  quite  apart  from  all  the  rest. 
They  were  selected  from  many  hundreds  which 
had  been  published  entire  in  newspapers.  The 
original  intention  was  to  publish  these  sermons 
alone;  but  the  death  of  the  great  preacher  has 
made  desirable  a  few  additions:    a  brief  sketch  of 


12 

his  life,  a  short  history  of  the  Central  Church, 
the  last  sermon  which  the  great  preacher  deliv- 
ered, the  one  which  he  was  writing  when  the 
Angel  of  Death  bade  him  shake  from  his  wings 
the  dust  of  his  body,  his  farewell  to  the  Fourth 
Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago,  his  first  address 
to  the  Central  Church,  and  selections  from  the 
tributes  paid  to  his  worth  and  genius  by  his  fellow 
clergymen  of  Chicago.  With  the  exception  of 
these  added  features,  and  the  portrait,  this  volume 
is  precisely  as  it  was  prepared  by  Professor  Swing 
himself. 


Bioorapbical  Sfcetcb. 

J6E  ffranfc  Gilbert. 

David  Swing  was  of  German  ancestry,  but, 
by  a  long  line  of  descent,  an  American.  The 
first  of  the  name  sought  and  found  personal  lib- 
erty on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  before  the  name 
of  the  United  States  had  ever  been  spoken.  The 
best  characteristics  of  the  land  of  Goethe  and 
Kant,  blended  with  those  of  the  land  of  Franklin 
and  Emerson,  found  pre-eminent  embodiment  in 
the  great  preacher,  whose  prose  was  poetry, 
whose  reflections  were  philosophy,  and  whose 
teachings  were  philosophy  and  religion  applied 
to  the  conduct  of  life. 

David  Swing  was  born  in  Cincinnati,  August 
23,  1830.  The  father,  whose  baptismal  name 
he  bore,  was  in  the  steamboat  business  on  the 
Ohio  River,  then  one  of  the  great  highways  of 
the  nation. 

The  senior  David  Swing  fell  a  victim  to  the 
cholera  of  1832.  This  proved  a  turning  point  in 
the  life  of  his  son.  Instead  of  spending  his  boy- 
hood in  what  was   then   the    metropolis   of   the 


14 

West,  lie  was  destined  to  nourish  a  youth  sub- 
lime in  the  comparative  solitude  of  a  farm  in  a 
thoroughly  rural  district;  for,  when  he  was  five 
years  old,  his  mother  married  again  and  became 
a  farmer's  wife.  This  was  the  only  notable 
change  in  the  general  atmosphere  of  his  boyhood. 
The  father,  although  a  truly  Christian  citizen,  was 
not  a  member  of  any  church,  while  the  stepfather 
was  of  the  strictest  sect,  a  Presbyterian. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  boy  life  of  the  great 
preacher  which  was  especially  noteworthy.  He 
attended  the  public  schools  of  his  neighborhood, 
acquiring  the  rudiments  of  education,  and  show- 
ing no  unusual  taste  for  reading.  It  was  not 
until  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age  that  the 
flower  of  his  genius  began  to  blossom.  The 
State  of  Ohio  was  dotted  over  with  small  col- 
leges, the  policy  of  the  early  settlers  being  to 
distribute  institutions  of  higher  learning,  instead 
of  attempting  to  build  up  a  great  university. 
Still  more  numerous  were  the  academies.  As  a 
consequence  of  that  policy,  almost  any  lad  of  that 
period  and  State,  who  was  really  eager  for  knowl- 
edge, could  acquire  a  liberal  education.  The 
remarkably  long  roll  of  Ohioans  who  have  risen 


L5 

to  distinction  attests  the  wisdom  of  that  policy. 
It  is  Miami  University,  at  Oxford,  which  can 
claim  David  Swing  as  one  of  its  graduates,  Pres- 
ident Harrison  being  a  classmate.  From  college 
he  went  direct  to  the  city  of  his  birth,  and,  under 
the  especial  theological  guidance  of  Dr.  N.  L. 
Pice,  then  one  of  the  most  eminent  preachers  and 
theologians  of  the  more  conservative  branch 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  he  studied  for  the 
ministry;  but  his  thoughts  turned  to  his  col- 
lege home.  The  life  at  Oxford,  with  its  oppor- 
tunities for  enjoying  the  society  of  the  high 
thinkers  who  made  Greek  and  Latin  literature 
so  rich,  and,  to  David  Swing,  so  delightful,  had 
special  attraction  for  him.  For  twelve  years  he 
was  instructor  of  Greek  and  Latin  at  Miami  Uni- 
versity, preaching  in  the  meanwhile  in  some 
neighboring  church.  Those  were  the  great  years 
of  his  preparation  for  what  was  to  prove  his  life- 
work.  He  settled  to  his  duties  at  Oxford,  expect- 
ing to  remain  there  permanently.  He  had  gone 
there  a  farmer  lad,  a  stranger,  and  alone.  He 
married  Elizabeth  Porter,  daughter  of  the  leading 
physician  of  the  town,  and  it  was  there  that  his 
two  daughters  who  survive  him  were  born.     Mrs. 


16 

Swing,  it  may  be  added  in  this  connection,  died 
August  2,  1S79.  The  husband  never  married 
again.  During  those  years  at  Oxford  he  enjoyed 
an  enviable  reputation  as  a  preacher,  but,  when 
called  to  Chicago  to  accept  a  pastorate,  he  declined 
it,  distrusting  his  ability  to  permanently  interest  a 
city  audience.  He  had  no  conception  of  his  own 
genius.  But,  finally,  after  repeated  urgings,  he 
accepted  the  pastorate  of  the  Westminster  Pres- 
byterian Church  of  Chicago,  and  left  the  home 
of  his  youth  and  early  manhood. 

The  success  of  David  Swing  was  marked  from 
the  first.  He  always  retained  the  title  of  Pro- 
fessor, a  fit  recognition  of  his  classic  culture. 
Soon  after  his  removal  to  Chicago  came  the 
union  of  the  old  and  new  school  branches  •  of 
the  Presbyterian  Church.  Out  of  the  incidents  of 
that  union  came  the  consolidation  of  the  West- 
minster with  the  North  Presbyterian  Church, 
under  the  new  name  of  the  Fourth  Presbyterian 
Church,  Professor  Swing  being  the  pastor  of  the 
two  made  one. 

The  great  Chicago  fire  of  October  9,  1871, 
destroyed  the  Fourth  Church  edifice  and  all  the 
homes  of  all  the  parish,  including  the  pastor's. 


17 

In  common  with  nearly  the  entire  North  Divis- 
ion of  Chicago,  the  Swing  family  were  obliged 
to  flee  for  their  lives,  taking  almost  nothing  with 
them.  Professor  Swing  wTas  accustomed  to  say  that 
there  was  one  comforting  reflection,  his  old  ser- 
mons were  burnt  up  and  could  never  tempt  him  to 
drawr  on  his  barrel  instead  of  his  brain.  As  an 
illustration  of  his  genial  wit  and  unfailing  hope- 
fulness, I  give  the  following  extract  from  a  letter: 

"On  Monday  morning  of  the  big  fire  of  '71 
I  overtook  Professor  Swing,  his  wife  and  two 
daughters,  going  up  Clark  Street  ahead  of  the 
fire,  and  took  him  to  my  room  in  the  school  on 
North  Halsted  Street.  Professor  Swing  had  the 
baby's  hand  in  his  left,  and  with  his  right  hand 
pulled  the  child's  express  wagon  with  a  few  pieces 
of  table  silver.  'Hello!  Donald,'  he  said, 'these 
are  all  I  have  left.  Gold'  (pointing  to  his  wife 
and  children), '  silver  and  hope.'  This  hope  never 
left  David  Swing,  for  the  last  words  he  ever  wrote 
were:  'We  must  all  hope  much  from  the  gradual 
progress  of  brotherly  love.' ' 

At  that  time  the  most  available  audience  room 
not  in  regular  use  upon  the  Sabbath  was  Standard 
Hall,  in  what  was  then  the  best  residence  portion 


18 

of  the  South  Divisiou,  and  there  Professor  Swing 
resumed  his  preaching.  Many  of  his  flock  gath- 
ered about  him,  and  others,  who  had  never 
attended  his  services,  were  attracted  by  his  depth 
of  thought,  beauty  of  diction,  and  unique  elo- 
quence. Soon  the  Standard  was  too  small  to  hold 
the  audience,  and  when  McVicker's  Theater  was 
rebuilt — and  it  was  one  of  the  first  large  structures 
in  the  burnt  district— Professor  Swing  preached 
there  regularly  every  Sunday  morning.  Here  also 
the  house  was  too  small  to  hold  the  people  who 
wished  to  hear  him.  During  that  brief  period 
between  the  destruction  and  reconstruction  of  the 
Fourth  Church,  rebuilt,  as  it  was,  on  its  old  site, 
David  Swing  gained  general  recognition  through- 
out the  three  divisions  of  Chicago  as  a  pulpit 
genius,  and  began  to  be  recognized  throughout 
the  country  at  large. 

Putting  aside  all  inducements  to  continue  his 
services  in  the  center  of  the  city  beyond  the  time 
necessary  for  his  old  parish  to  restore  itself  after 
the  dispersion  of  that  night  of  burning,  Professor 
Swing  resumed  the  regular  pastorate  as  soon  as 
practicable.  Everything  was  moving  smoothly, 
until  April  18,  1874,  when  Professor  Francis  L. 


19 

Pattern,  of  the  McCormick  Theological  Seminary , 
and  subsequently  President  of  Princeton  Univer- 
sity, arraigned  him  for  heresy.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  dwell  upon  that  trial.  No  man  was  ever  less 
inclined  to  spend  his  strength  in  controversy  than 
David  Swing.  It  was  abhorrent  to  his  whole 
nature.  But,  being  forced  to  defend  himself,  he 
did  it  in  a  masterly  manlier,  and  was  acquitted. 
His  church,  and  the  community  generally,  rejoiced 
exceedingly  that  the  modern  Daniel  had  come  out 
of  the  lion's  den  unharmed.  But  Professor  Pat- 
ton  had  no  thought  of  stopping.  The  case  could 
be  appealed  to  the  Synod,  and  from  the  Synod  to 
the  General  Assembly,  and  then,  perhaps,  be 
remanded  to  the  Presbytery,  the  court  of  original 
jurisdiction,  for  a  second  trial,  with  a  second 
series  of  appeals.  The  prospect  of  wasting  so 
much  of  his  life  in  the  mere  defense  of  his  per- 
sonal orthodoxy  was  so  unbearable  that  David 
Swing  quietly  severed  his  connection  with  the 
Fourth  Church  and  the  Presbyterian  denomina- 
tion. There  were  no  sensational  features.  His 
withdrawal  was  devoid  of  everything,  so  far  as 
possible,  that  would  savor  of  notoriety.  But  so 
large  a  place  had  Professor  Swing  already  come  to 


20 

occupy  in  the  religious  world,  that  his  loss  to  the 
Presbyterian  ministry  occasioned  a  great  deal  of 
public  discussion  and  contributed  perceptibly  to 
the  liberal  tendency  of  the  period. 

There  eagerly  rallied  around  Professor  Swing 
at  this  period  of  his  life  a  large  constituency, 
drawn  from  all  parts  of  the  city,  rejoicing  in  the 
opportunity  of  resuming,  on  a  more  suitable  basis, 
the  down-town  services  begun  in  McVicker's  The- 
ater. Central  Music  Hall  was  built  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  there,  until  his  death,  the  beloved 
pastor  of  Central  Church  continued  to  discuss 
the  high  themes  of  religion  and  ethics.  There, 
also,  at  stated  intervals,  the  pastor  administered 
the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  to  which  all 
were  bidden  who  were  in  sympathy  with  the 
service.  The  customary  mid- week  evening  serv- 
ice was  maintained  in  Apollo  Hall,  the  small 
upper  chamber  of  Central  Music  Hall. 

The  Central  Church  organized  and  sustained 
for  many  years  a  Mission  School  —  Sabbath  and 
Industrial  —  in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  city, 
besides  taking  a  large  part  in  the  general  chari- 
table and  humane  work  of  Chicago.  Personally, 
Professor  Swing  was  specially  interested  in  the 


21 

work  of  the  Humane  Society,  to  the  efficiency  of 
which  he  very  largely  contributed. 

With  the  opening  of  the  pulpit  year  of  1879, 
Professor  Swing  began  his  largest  pastorate.  From 
that  time  until  his  death,  his  sermons  were  regu- 
larly published  each  Monday  morning  precisely  as 
delivered.  For  fourteen  years  he  occupied  that 
press  pulpit.  There  was  not  a  State  or  a  Terri- 
tory where  his  voice  was  not  heard.  Even  Alaska 
contributed  to  that  vast  audience.  Nor  was  that 
all.  Many  newspapers  throughout  the  country 
frequently  made  liberal  extracts  from  those 
sermons.  Thus  the  power  and  influence  of  David 
Swing  became  a  distinct  and  important  factor 
in  the  higher  life  of  a  multitude  which  no 
man  could  number.  When,  at  last,  with  only  a 
few  days'  warning,  the  end  came,  not  only  did 
Chicago  mourn  the  truly  irreparable  loss,  but 
that  larger  congregation  shared  keenly  in  the 
sorrow. 

Without  lingering  by  the  deathbed  of  this 
second  Erasmus,  nor  yet  trenching  at  all 
upon  the  ground  so  well  covered  by  the  tributes 
herewith  published,  this  sketch  can  not  better 
close  than  by  reproducing  the  poem  written  by 


9.9! 


David    Swing  in   memory  of    Garfield,  and   the 

tribute  verse  from  the  pen  of  Frances  Cole: 

Now  all  ye  flowers  make  room, 
Hither  we  come  in  gloom, 
To  make  a  mighty  tomb, 

Sighing  and  weeping. 
Grand  was  the  life  he  led, 
Wise  was  each  word  he  said; 
But  with  the  noble  dead 

We  leave  him  sleeping. 

Soft  may  his  body  rest, 
As  on  his  mother's  breast, 
Whose  love  stands  all  confessed, 

Mid  blinding  tears. 
But  may  his  soul  so  white, 
Rise  in  triumphant  flight, 
And  in  God's  land  of  light 

Spend  endless  years. — David  Swing. 


When  some  beloved  guest  takes  scrip  and  staff 

For  further  journeying,  or  our  heart's  son, 

Conscious  of  pleasant  days  of  childhood  done, 

Girds  up  the  loins  of  manhood  with  a  laugh 

And  goes  forth  full  of  courage;  then  we  pace 

A  little  way  with  each  the  upward  slope 

Till  the  hill's  brow  hides  him,  and  we  trace 

Our  way  alone  back  to  our  lonely  place. 

So  now,  benignant  teacher  !  that  the  cloud 

Hath  hid  thee  closely  from  our  straining  eyes, 

This  planet's  air  grows  chill;  our  hearts  are  bowed 

With  sense  of  evening  shadows  in  the  skies; 

In  unknown  tongues  the  page  of  life  seems  writ, — 

Our  friend  is  gone  who  should  interpret  it. 

— Frances  Cole* 


Ibietor^  of  tbe  Central  Cburcb. 

3Bb  Cbomas  S.  CbarD. 

[This  paper  was  read  to  the  Central  Church  on  the  first  Sunday 
after  the  funeral  of  tbe  beloved  pastor,  together  with  the  unfin- 
ished sermon,  which  is  also  given  in  this  volume.] 

In  the  year  1866,  Professor  David  Swing,  then 
hardly  known  beyond  the  confines  of  his  own 
native  State,  was  called  from  the  Miami  Univer- 
sity, of  Oxford,  Ohio,  to  the  pastorate  of  the 
Westminster  Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago, 
which  then  occupied  a  small  wooden  structure  in 
the  North  Division  of  the  city.  Accepting  the 
call,  Professor  Swing  began  his  pastoral  work, 
and,  by  the  breadth  and  originality  of  his  views 
and  the  beauty  of  his  literary  style,  soon  drew  a 
large  following  of  those  who  loved  liberal 
thought,  when  held  in  balance  by  spirituality 
and  reason.  In  those  far-away  years  his  bril- 
liancy of  mind  was  astonishing.  One  expression 
I  recall,  among  the  many  like  thoughts  which 

23 


24 

adorned  his  discourses:  "How  precious  in  God's 
sight  must  be  this  star,  for  out  of  its  very  dust 
he  made  a  man."  Search  where  we  will  in  lit- 
erature, such  gems  are  found  elsewhere  only  in 
Shakespeare,  and  they  were  sown  thick  in  every 
sermon  he  delivered.  The  congregation  soon 
grew  too  large  for  its  small  building,  and 
united,  under  Professor  Swing,  with  the  North 
Church,  occupying  the  more  commodious  edifice. 
The  great  fire  of  1871  swept  away  this  church, 
with  all  others  in  that  part  of  the  city,  and  scat- 
tered the  homeless  congregation.  It  reassembled 
at  Standard  Hall,  and,  later,  re-enforced  by  a  mul- 
titude of  persons  of  all  shades  of  religious  belief, 
bound  together  by  a  common  love  for  their  leader, 
met  for  a  while  in  McVicker\s  Theater.  On  the 
completion  of  the  present  Fourth  Presbyterian 
Church,  Professor  Swing  occupied  its  pulpit  as 
pastor.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  David  Swing  was  a 
lover,  follower,  and  teacher  of  the  truth  as  God 
gave  him  to  see  it.  With  that  happy  commin- 
gling of  profound  philosophy,  delicate  poetic 
sentiment  and  large  humanity,  enlivened  by  a 
wit  which  left  no  bitterness,  he  charmed  and  con- 
vinced men,  and  held  within  the  influence  of  the 


25 

church  many  of  our  ablest  thinkers,  who,  but  for 
him,  would  not  have  enjoyed  the  gentle  ministra- 
tions of  the  sanctuary. 

Of  the  heresy  trial  I  need  hardly  speak.  It 
removed  David  Swing  from  the  Presbyterian 
Church  and  gave  him  to  humanity. 

In  November,  1875,  Professor  David  Swing, 
enjoying  the  confidence  and  affectionate  regard  of 
the  Chicago  Presbytery,  and  beloved  by  his  own 
congregation,  resigned  his  pastorate  of  the  Fourth 
Church.  Immediate  arrangements  were  made  to 
organize  a  new  church  society,  with  Professor 
Swing  as  pastor.  An  agreement  was  executed  as 
follows : 

"We,  the  undersigned,  believing  it  to  be  de- 
sirable that  David  Swing  shall  remain  in  the  city 
of  Chicago  and  continue  his  public  teachings  in 
some  central  and  commodious  place,  and  having 
been  informed  that  the  annual  expense  of  such 
arrangement  can  be  brought  within  the  sum  of 
$15,000,  including  an  acceptable  salary  to  Pro- 
fessor Swing,  do  hereby  severally  agree  to  pay  the 
deficit,  if  any  there  shall  be,  arising  from  the 
conduct  of  such  services,  to  the  amount  above 
named,  for  the  term  of  two  years." 


26 


To  this  agreement  fifty  names  were  signed, 
each  subscribing  $1,000.  These  names  are  as 
follows: 


J.  D.  Webster, 
N.  K.  Fairbank, 
John  S.  Hunter, 
William  Bross, 
W.  W.  Kimball, 
Samuel  Bliss, 
C.  I.  Peck, 
H.  A.  Johnson, 
E.  L.  Shelpon, 
C.  A.  Spring,  Jr., 
W.  S.  Henderson, 
A.  T.  Hall, 
G  B.  Carpenter, 
Perry  H.  Smith, 
J.  G.  Shortall, 
Robert  Harris, 
Eugene  S.  Pike, 


Leonard  Swett, 
Franklin  Mac- 

Veagh, 
Walter  L.  Peck, 
O.  F.  Fuller, 
A.  L.  Chetlain, 
A.  T.  Andrews, 
H.  I.  Sheldon, 
V.  C.  Turner, 
Frank  M.  Blair, 
O.  W.  Potter, 
P.  C.  Maynard, 
W.  E.  Doggett, 
C.  B.  Holmes, 
Chas.  H.  Lane, 
Enos  Johnson, 
Jos.  Medill, 


Wirt  Dexter, 
Alfred  Cowles, 
A.  M.  Pence, 
A.  N.  Kellogg, 

R.    N.    ISHAM, 

Ferd.  W.  Peck, 
J.  H.  McVicker, 
John  B.  Drake, 
W.  R.  Page, 
Henry  Potwin, 
Edmund  Burke, 
F.  M.  Corby, 
J.  V.  LeMoyne, 
Murry  Nelson, 
George  Sturges, 
H.  M.  Wilmarth, 

J.   C.  DUNLEVY. 


The  guarantors  of  this  fund  were  not  called 
upon,  as  seats  were  rented  for  a  sum  amounting 
to  about  $15,000  annually. 

The  creed  adopted  by  the  church  was  short, 
simple  and  evangelical.  Without  raising  nice 
metaphysical  distinctions,  it  dealt  mainly  with 
the  practical  side  of  Christian  life. 


27 

From  McVicker's  Theater,  where  the  society 
was  first  called  together,  the  congregation  re- 
moved to  Central  Music  Hall,  January  1,  1880, 
and  has  continued  to  occupy  this  hall  until  the 
present  day. 

The  history  and  noble  work  of  Central  Church 
since  that  time  are  well  known.  Its  Sunday  ser- 
mons have  been  read  each  week,  from  the  Pacific 
to  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  in  numberless  Christian 
homes,  and  they  have  most  powerfully  contributed 
to  mold,  sweeten,  liberalize  and  elevate  the  relig- 
ious thought  of  the  day. 

David  Swing  died  Wednesday  evening,  Octo- 
ber 3,  and  his  funeral  services  were  held  in  Cen- 
tral Music  Hall  on  the  following  Sunday.  Here, 
where  his  eloquence  so  often  inspired  your  nobler 
thoughts,  you  covered  that  which  was  mortal  with 
the  flowers  he  had  loved  so  well,  and  gave  to  him 
the  tribute  of  your  tears.  He  has  left  you,  as  a 
father  leaves  his  children — not  forever,  for  "be- 
yond the  smiling  and  the  weeping"  we  shall  meet 
him  again. 

He  once  repeated  some  beautiful  lines,  with 
that  tenderness  of  feeling  which  so  characterized 
him,  and  you  may  wish  to  listen  to  them  now: 


28 


Life!  we've  been  long  together 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear; 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh — a  tear; 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning; 
Choose  thine  own  time; 
Say  not  "Good  night,"  but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  "  Good  morning." 


XLen  Sermons 


Zhc  Simpler  anfc  Greater  IRellglon. 

I  fear  lest  your  minds  be  corrupted  from  the  simplicity  and 
purity  that  is  toward  Christ.     II   Corinthians,  xi.  3. 

Many  who  live  and  think  in  our  age  are  long- 
ing for  a  simpler  religion.  This  desire  is  heard 
in  sermons,  in  common  conversation,  and  is  seen 
in  the  volumes  and  essays  of  public  men.  It 
may  well  be  a  matter  of  wonder  what  is  meant 
by  a  simpler  religion.  It  may  be  these  longing 
minds  are  thinking  of  a  more  rational  Christianity 
— a  form  in  which  reason  is  more  visible  than 
miracle.  It  may  be  they  are  thinking  of  a  life  as 
distinguished  from  a  belief.  It  would  seem  a 
good  time  for  making  a  morning  study  out  of  this 
oft  recurring  public  desire.  If  we  are  at  some 
time  to  have  a  simpler  form  of  Christianity, or  are 
to  work  for  such  a  result,  we  ought  to  map  out 
our  wish  and  study  it,  that  we  may  know  when 
it  is  gratified.  Perhaps  such  a  religion  has 
already  come.  We  have  all  heard  of  the  "simplic- 
ity of  Christ."  What  is  it?  What  was  it?  Will  it 
have  any  merit  and  beauty  when  it  shall  appear  ? 

Events  are  denning  for  us  this  new  term. 
Each  year  is  pointing  out  to   us   that  the    past 


30 

Christianity  was  too  complex.  It  was  easily  put 
out  of  working  order.  Often  machines  are  made 
which  involve  so  many  movements,  so  many 
changes  of  the  direction  of  power,  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  the  instrument  to  do  a  continuous 
work  for  a  single  day. 

Genius  has  labored  long  to  make  a  type-setting 
machine,  but  the  task  to  be  done  has  been  so  com- 
plex, so  full  of  motions  and  choices,  that  the  wish 
of  the  publishing  men  has  not  yet  been  fully  grat- 
ified. It  was  for  a  long  time  difficult  to  make  a 
good  watch  which,  besides  keeping  time  perfectly, 
should  strike  the  hour  and  minute  and  should 
continue  to  work  only  in  one  hour  until  another 
hourhadcome.  Theoldtall  eight-day  clock  had  less 
difficulty  in  finding  its  field  of  service.  A  pendu- 
lum, a  couple  of  weights,  and  a  few  wheels,  and  all 
was  ready  for  a  performance  of  duty  for  a  hun- 
dred years  without  any  stop  for  repairs. 

In  the  material  pursuits  of  man  it  is  often  nec- 
essary to  have  complex  machines,  the  demand 
being  imperative,  but  in  his  spiritual  kingdom 
there  is  no  such  inexorable  demand.  Complex- 
ness  is  never  unavoidable.  Indeed  it  is  purely 
gratuitous.     There  is  no  more  demand  for  a  com- 


31 

plex  religion  than  there  was  for  the  literary  style 
of  the  poet  Browning.  It  would  have  been  quite 
an  increase  of  fame  and  fortune  to  that  talented 
man  had  he  possessed  a  style  as  clear  as  that  of 
Shakespeare  or  Lord  Byron.  He  had  noble  pur- 
poses and  great  power,  but  his  words  always 
became  entangled  like  a  skein  of  line  silk. 

His  thoughts  were  indeed  silk,  but  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  pull  quickly  out  of  the  tangle  a  long 
needleful  of  good  thread.  The  greatest  of  all 
thoughts  can  be  best  expressed  in  the  utmost 
simplicity,  because  the  idea,  like  a  mountain,  must 
stand  forth  all  alone  that  it  may  be  the  better 
seen.  But  when  a  mountain  is  mingled  with  a 
long  group  and  is  modified  by  foothills  which 
reach  away  in  all  directions  for  a  half  hundred 
miles,  there  is  the  most  sublime  Alp  or  Apennine 
injured  by  a  complexity.  Christianity  is  much 
like  an  author  or  a  piece  of  art:  it  can  rise  up  in 
its  own  grandeur  and  express  its  divineness,  or  it 
can  be  almost  hidden  and  ruined  by  surroundings 
in  which  there  are  no  traces  of  greatness. 

When  Pascal  lived  and  created  such  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  Romish  Church  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  his  power  lay  in  his  ability  to  raise  a 


32       ' 

laugh  over  the  obscure  metaphysical  inquiries  so 
dear  to  that  period.  Born  a  geometer  and  a 
mathematician,  his  reason  could  strip  all  ideas  of 
their  false  side,  and  could  detect  instantly  a  piece 
of  bad  logic.  He  loved  to  ridicule  the  absurdities 
of  the  middle  ages  and  to  plead  for  the  simple 
gospel  of  the  first  four  centuries.  His  influence 
came  chiefly  from  his  power  to  lift  up  a  great  idea 
until  by  its  altitude  it  made  all  other  ideas  con- 
temptible. He  turned  the  morals  of  the  Jesuits 
into  contempt  and  the  name  of  God  into  sub- 
limity. 

One  of  the  last  lessons  learned  by  mankind  is 
this:  that  simplicity  may  be  power;  that  it  is 
nearly  always  the  most  powerful  element  in 
thought  and  art.  The  most  intricate  and  sense- 
less of  all  philosophies  are  those  of  the  earliest 
and  most  ignorant  races.  The  religions  of  India 
are  unreadable  in  our  age.  No  modern  mind 
could  find  the  courage  to  work  its  way  through  such 
wonderful  admixtures  of  fact  and  invention. 
Many  of  the  absurd  inquiries  which  attracted  the 
school  men  and  held  them  captive  up  to  the 
sixteenth  century  came  into  Christianity  from  the 
old  East.     Nearly  all  of  those  questions  about  the 


33 

size  of  a  spirit,  about  its  ability  to  travel  fast 
from  star  to  star,  its  ability  to  dance  on  a  needle's 
point  came  into  the  Christian  period  from  the 
heathen  world  which  had  nourished  long  before 
the  birth  of  Christ.  All  semi-barbarian  races 
have  loved  a  pomposity  of  speech  and  style.  As 
some  of  the  African  women  in  the  interior  of 
the  Dark  Continent  wear  100  pounds  of  iron  rings 
on  arms  and  ankles,  assuming  that,  if  a  ring  be 
an  ornament,  then,  the  more  rings,  the  more 
beautiful  the  girl  who  wears  them,  so,  in  the  old 
theologies,  the  more  abundant  the  notions,  the 
richer  the  creed.  So  rich  was  the  Hindoo  phil- 
osophy at  last  that  it  would  have  filled  volumes, 
had  the  conglomeration  ever  been  fully  expressed 
in  writing. 

This  fondness  for  entanglement  we  see  in  its 
better  days  in  the  Apocalypse  of  Saint  John. 
There  is  no  doubt  John  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  characters  of  all  who  have  lived,  but 
this  moral  beauty  did  not  save  him  from  being 
led  away  by  the  prevailing  charm  of  excessive 
figure  and  of  wide  labyrinths  of  thought.  In  the 
first  chapter  of  his  gospel  he  exults  in  the  enigma 
of  the  Word;  and  in  the  Revelation  he  hands  his 


34 

mind  and  soul  over  to  the  cause  of  a  bottomless 
mystery,  and  no  doubt  drank  in  much  sweetness 
from  thoughts  which  are  bitterness  to  this  cen- 
tury. John  had  in  his  heart  some  great  poem  to 
be  inscribed  to  Christ,  the  church  and  heaven,  but 
the  past  ages  had  shaped  for  him  his  form  of 
expression,  and  the  result  was  a  poem  which, 
instead  of  standing  sublime  and  simple,  like  the 
words  of  Jesus,  lies  before  the  modern  world  like 
the  wreck  of  some  royal  galleon,  all  marked  from 
sails  to  anchor  with  the  splendors  of  the  kings  of 
Spain.  Over  such  an  ornamental  ship  the  ocean 
sighs  and  the  suns  of  summer  shine,  but  the 
beautiful  boat  will  never  sail  the  sea.  So  the 
Apocalypse  is  a  gorgeous  barge  that  will  never 
t>e  under  full  sail  again. 

Should  any  one,curious  over  the  past  and  fond 
of  comparisons,  wish  to  compare  the  Jesus  and 
the  disciple  he  loved,  he  will  find  much  of  that 
difference  contained  in  the  mental  simplicity  of 
the  Master.  With  Jesus,  the  greater  the  truth,the 
simpler  its  expression.  As  his  ideas  grew  in  vast- 
ness,they  diminished  in  number.  As  our  earth 
has  many  little  lakes  but  only  a  few  oceans, 
because   there  is  no  room  for  many,  so  Christ 


35 

offered  only  a  few  truths,  because  each  truth  had 
to  be  thousands  of  miles  in  length  and  breadth. 
What  Christ  said  is  as  clear,  as  rich,  as  divine 
to-day  as  it  was  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 
whereas  much  which  John  wrote  is  now  as  faded 
as  the  flowers  which  bloomed  around  him  at  Pat- 
mos.  We  see  in  those  two  faces  the  Master  and 
the  gentle  disciple.  John  was  all  the  more  be- 
loved because  he  was  only  the  companion  planet 
of  the  flaming  sun.  The  central  sun  did  not  need 
help; it  needed  only  a  companion  in  the  realms  of 
space.  St.  John  was  this  companion,  and  Christ 
and  he  will  journey  onward  forever,  hand  in 
hand,  the  greater  and  the  less. 

The  many  shades  of  Christianity  having 
reached  this  period  of  reason  are  compelled  to 
halt  for  a  time.  All  these  modern  churches  have 
come  through  many  a  tribulation,  but,  above  all, 
they  have  come  through  one  long  jungle  which 
had  thickened  ever  since  the  times  of  the  old 
Aryan  tongues.  They  all  halt  now  because  our 
period  asks  them  what  all  their  enigmas  are 
worth  ?  The  age  does  not  seek  the  money  value 
but  the  moral  value  of  their  stuffs.  A  priest  in  a 
large  city  is  having  hymns  printed  in  English,  to 


36 

be  sung  by  all  his  congregation,  as  hymns  are 
sung  here,  for,  he  says,  if  the  English  language 
can  speak  our  wisdom,  our  wit,  our  love,  our 
friendship,  can  it  not  utter  the  emotions  of  our 
religion  ?  What  a  sad  blunder  of  society  if  Car- 
dinal Newman  can  compose  such  a  hymn  as 
"Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  and  then  must  have  a 
little  choir  sing  some  Latin  words  for  his  congre- 
gation, whose  hearts  and  tears  are,  in  his  English, 
living  thoughts !  Often  highly  educated  persons 
are  able  to  lend  their  soul  to  two  or  three  differ- 
ent tongues;  but,  with  the  millions  on  millions  of 
people,  there  is  only  one  language  in  and  around 
their  spirit.  It  is  the  arms,  the  feet,  wings,  and 
senses  of  their  mind.  In  it  is  light;  out  of  it  all 
is  midnight.  In  that  one  language  the  people 
live  and  move  and  have  their  being.  Coming  up 
to  the  English  tongue  the  church  must  throw 
away  its  Latin,  and  talk  and  sing  and  pray  along 
with  the  living  heart. 

We  must  throw  aside  childish  affectations  and 
live  real  lives  in  a  real  world.  When  a  Christian 
church  crosses  the  line  and  enters  Germany  it 
must  use  the  language  of  Goethe  and  Schiller; 
in  France  it  must  use  the  language  of  Paris;  in 


37 

America  it  must  use  the  language  of  Webster  and 
Clay.  To  use  the  Latin  tongue  is  only  an  affec- 
tation like  that  of  many  of  our  youth  who  love 
nothing  unless  it  lies  over  the  sea.  What  a 
wretched  blunder  had  Schiller  attempted  to  write 
in  French,  and  Ernest  Renan  attempted  to  com- 
pose his  books  in  German !  Dante  began  his  poem 
in  the  Latin  tongue,  but  it  was  too  dead  a  speech 
for  the  living  Florence.  Thus  the  Latin  of  the 
church  is  only  a  colossal  act  in  the  long  history 
of  affectation. 

But  what  the  Romanists  are  guilty  of  in  lan- 
guage the  Protestants  have  been  guilty  of  in  their 
relations  to  doctrine,  for  they  are  attempting  to 
carry  onward  a  bundle  of  ideas  which  are  fully  as 
dead  as  the  kings  who  built  the  Pyramids.  Even 
were  they  not  dead,  they  are  only  expressions 
which  pleased  generations  which  are  no  longer 
here.  There  is  no  public  here  which  cares  to  dis- 
cuss the  natural  inability  of  the  sinner,  or  the 
totalness  of  an  infant's  guilt,  or  the  inability  of  a 
saint  to  lose  his  piety,  or  the  worthlessness  of 
morality,  or  the  efforts  of  Christ  in  behalf  of  a 
few,  or  that  a  general  and  endless  punishment 
of  mankind  is  for  the  glory  of  God.     There  must 


38 

be  a  half  hundred  of  ideas  which  once  possessed 
the  power  to  thrill  the  public  heart,  but  which 
now  lie  dead  and  friendless.  The  fashion  of  this 
world  passeth  away.  The  love  of  doctrine  has 
declined. 

There  used  to  be  recognized  several  kinds  of 
faith.  There  was  a  faith  in  miracles,  a  faith  in 
the  divinity  of  Christ,  a  faith  which  even  devils 
might  cherish,  and  last  and  best  of  all  came  a 
saving  faith.  This  kind  would  come  only  by  the 
intervention  of  miraculous  power.  What  kind  of 
faith  an  inquiring  soul  might  have  found  or  might 
find  was  exceedingly  uncertain.  The  soul  might 
be  mistaken  and  be  like  the  men,  who,  in  digging- 
a  well  on  their  farms,  have  come  upon  iron  pyrites 
and  have  held  a  feast  and  invited  in  all  the  neiffh- 
bors  to  rejoice  with  them  over  the  discovery  of  a 
fabulous  vein  of  gold.  It  is  within  living  mem- 
ory that  many  a  young  person  has  longed  to  have 
a  saving  faith,  but  has  been  uncertain  whether 
what  he  had  was  the  purest  of  gold  or  only  the 
cheap  sulphide  of  iron.  All  these  old  shadings 
of  faith  have  melted  into  one — a  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ  as  man's  beloved  friend.  If  we  had  asked 
the  poet  Cowper  whether  he  had   faith   in  his 


39 

mother,  and  whether  it  was  a  faith  in  miracles 
or  in  testimony,  or  a  faith  which  a  devil  might 
possess,  he  would  have  scorned  all  our  theolog- 
ical chemistry  and  have  said:  "I  shall  love  my 
mother  forever.1'  Behold  in  Cowper's  reply  the 
coming  simplicity  of  Christianity!  It  will  rear 
at  last  a  sentiment  which  will  make  earth  beauti- 
ful and  heaven  near. 

The  old  theologies  were  a  kind  of  exhaustive 
chemical  analysis  of  man  as  a  religious  creature; 
they  were  a  physiology  of  the  religious  nerves 
and  tissues,  a  microscopic  study  of  the  cellular 
structure  as  affected  by  the  religious  emotions. 
Among  its  conclusions  one  will  find  the  deduc- 
tion that  if  a  babe  should  die  unbaptized  it 
would  be  punished  in  perdition  forever  by  a  God 
of  infinite  love.  Many  centuries  were  thus  dom- 
inated by  a  scientific  Christianity.  Repentance 
was  analyzed  and  quite  an  assortment  of  repent- 
ances were  found.  There  was  a  repentance  with- 
out sorrow  and  one  with  sorrow;  one  without 
reform  and  one  with  reform;  and  then  came  the 
chase  after  that  kind  which  itself  needed  to  be 
repented  of;  and  then  came  the  search  for  that 
sin  over  which   repentance  was  utterly  useless. 


40 

Equipped  with  such  a  scientific  religion,  the  many 
churches  did  their  work  for  many  centuries. 
Under  it  wars,  murders,  persecutions  and  tor- 
tures were  most  common.  The  spirit  of  Christ 
had  little  to  do  with  the  case,  because  that  spirit 
was  not  an  easy  victim  to  such  a  theological  lab- 
oratory. When  our  vivisectionists  cut  to  pieces 
a  living  dog  or  a  living  horse,  they  report  on  the 
creature's  bones  and  sinews;  they  never  report 
on  the  animal's  friendship  for  man. 

The  vivisectionist  sustains  no  relations  to 
mercy  or  goodness  or  justice;  his  world  is  made 
up  of  weights  and  measures  and  times,  causes 
and  effects.  In  Africa,  a  negro  chief,  having 
been  presented  with  a  rifle  by  Captain  Speke, 
and  seeing  no  bird  or  animal  upon  which  to  try 
the  instrument,  fired  at  a  slave  who  was  at  work 
in  a  field.  The  chief  went  to  his  palace  proud 
of  his  gun.  What  a  marvelous  combination  of 
lock,  stock  and  barrel!  How  bright  the  iron  and 
steel!  how  polished  and  how  carved  the  wood! 
As  for  the  slave,  he  lay  dying  in  agony .  Such 
is  the  science  of  vivisection — a  science  of  knives 
and  saws,  with  the  human  soul  and  the  animal 
soul  left  out.  It  is  the  African  rifle,  with  the 
dying  slave  omitted. 


41 

Thus  has  theology  been  too  scientific.  A  year 
or  two  ago  a  railway  car  was  thrown  over,  and  a 
priest  who  was  not  hurt  in  the  least,  but  who  was 
compelled  to  wade  out  of  deep  water  and  mud, 
came  up  the  bank  swearing  in  an  anger  and  with 
oaths  which  consigned  to  future  pain  all  the  rail- 
way men  who  had  ever  lived  in  any  land.  And 
yet  the  theology  of  that  priest  was  a  most  com- 
plete science  of  salvation.  It  contained  all  the 
dogmas  of  the  church  as  discovered  between  St. 
Augustine  and  Cardinal  Richelieu.  Nothing  was 
absent  from  the  theology  except  religion. 

From  this  elaborate  science  our  age  desires  to 
break  away  and  to  enjoy  more  of  religion  itself. 
We  all  perceive  that  the  millions  of  people  do 
not  need  the  theories  of  Dr.  Briggs  or  of  those 
who  opposed  that  theologian—  they  need  a  great, 
deep  friendship  with  the  man  of  Galilee,  who 
held  in  his  soul  all  that  is  great  in  human  prac- 
tice or  belief.  Having  had  eighteen  centuries  of 
analysis  of  religion,  how  ready  the  world  is  for  a 
taste  of  the  good  analyzed  so  long!  Newman 
and  Fenelon  possessed  it;  so  Calvin  and  John 
Knox  carried  it  in  their  hearts;  Paul  and  Apollos 
were  full  of  it  when  the  world  was  young;  it 


42 

sprang  up  in  the  soul  of  John  Wesley  and  came 
to  Whitefield;  it  inflamed  the  bosom  of  Mine. 
Guion,  and  away  it  went  to  live  with  the  mission- 
aries who  traversed  these  snows  in  winters  long 
since  melted  into  summers,  which  also  are  gone. 
But  if  minds  so  scattered  through  two  thousand 
years  met  in  one  Christianity,  then  there  must  be 
a  religion  which  lies  apart  from  the  hundreds  of 
doctrines  and  which  cares  for  none  of  them  any 
more  than  the  sea  cares  for  the  artists  who  sit  on 
the  sand  and  attempt  to  paint  its  picture.  We 
can  imagine  the  ocean  saying  to  the  artist:  "Are 
you  trying  to  make  a  picture  of  me?  Me!  Why, 
I  am  ten  thousand  miles  wide,  and  am  not  even 
in  your  sight!  Paint  me!  Why,  I  am  not  here 
for  you  to  paint.  I  am  washing  the  shores  of 
England,  America,  Spain  and  France!1' 

To  John  Calvin  we  can  imagine  Christianity 
saying:  "What!  are  you  delineating  me  ?  How 
can  you  paint  me  when  I  am  not  in  Geneva 
alone?  I  was  with  Magdalen  when  she  prayed; 
I  was  with  Joseph  who  asked  to  furnish  the  tomb 
for  my  crucified  Christ;  I  was  with  the  mother  of 
Augustine  more  years  than  I  was  with  Augustine 
himself;  I  was  with  all  the  little  children  whom 


43 

Christ  held  in  his  arms;  I  was  with  John  when 
he  was  preaching  in  the  wilderness;  I  was  with 
the  five  thousand  once  and  gave  them  all  the 
bread  of  two  worlds;  I  was  with  the  disciples 
when  they  sang  a  hymn,  and  I  was  with  all  the 
martyrs  when  they  died.  Oh,  thou  citizen  of 
Geneva,  thou  canst  not  express  me  in  articles, 
for  I  am  measureless ;  I  am  not  a  science  of  plants 
— not  a  botany.  I  am  the  blossoms  themselves — 
the  color  and  the  perfume!  " 

The  Christian  religion  often  seems  like  that 
vast  structure  in  Rome  to  which  many  architects 
carried  their  deepest  and  most  serious  genius. 
Bramante  came  first.  He  died,  and  the  great 
Raphael  took  his  place  among  the  arches  and 
columns.  The  grave  soon  called  Raphael.  Th<jn 
came  Perruzi  to  stay  by  the  stones  for  a  half  of  a 
life-time.  Angelo  then  came  and  gave  the  great 
sanctuary  twenty-two  of  his  precious  circles  of 
the  sun.  Genius  followed  genius  for  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  years. 

In  that  long  procession  of  Italian  summer 
times  these  great  architects  hated  each  other  and 
quarreled,  each  with  his  neighbor.  Castelar  says 
that  Bramante  and  Angelo,  separated  by  the  things 


44 

of  earth,  are  now  united  in  immortality.  While 
the  builders  were  often  enemies,  the  temple  grew 
in  its  grandeur,  because  its  arches  and  columns 
and  dome  could  take  no  part  in  the  quarrels  of 
daily  human  life.  The  great  basilica  arose  each 
year  toward  the  sky,  and  each  year  left  fur- 
ther below,  down  among  the  marble  chips,  the 
many  quarrels  of  the  workmen.  It  absorbed 
from  the  architects  their  love  and  their  genius, 
and  left  all  else  behind.  Thus  Christianity  can 
make  use  of  the  hearts  and  powers  of  genius, 
but  it  remands  back  to  oblivion  all  the  discords 
of  fretful  minds.  It  can  extract  something  from 
a  Cardinal  Newman,  something;  from  John  Wes- 
ley,  something  from  each  cathedral  and  each 
little  chapel  in  town  or  field,  but  in  its  vast  life 
which  is  to  follow  the  human  race  forever  it  will 
work  its  way  up  toward  its  God  long  after  we 
shall  have  gone  away  from  our  quarrelings  among 
the  useless  chips  around  the  base.  It  will  rise  a 
single  shaft,  sublime  but  simple. 

Christ  was  so  essentially  a  life  that  His  relig- 
ion must  follow  closely  the  plan  of  its  Founder. 
There  are  many  intellectual  inquiries  upon  which 
the  church  does  not   know  what  was  or  would 


45 

have  been  the  Nazarene's  opinion,  but  the  life  of 
Christ  admits  of  no  doubt.  The  demand  of  the 
whole  earth  is  expressed  in  a  few  words — a  life 
like  that  of  Jesus.  With  such  a  piety  before 
man  and  in  man, his  present  and  his  eternity  will 
be  one  wide  field  of  blessedness. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  a  simple  Chris- 
tianity does  not  mean  an  unadorned  religion. 
Mount  Blanc  is  simple,  but  it  is  wondrously 
adorned.  Coleridge  saw  it  rising  majestically 
"forth  from  a  sea  of  pines;  "  he  saw  on  its  sides 
"motionless  torrents"  and  "silent  cataracts;1' 
he  saw  "flowers  skirting  the  edge  of  eternal 
frost;"  he  heard  there  "a  thousand  voices  prais- 
ing God."  Rising  up  thus  in  all  the  matchless 
beauty  which  eternal  winter  could  heap  upon  its 
summit  and  which  eternal  spring  could  weave 
around  its  base,  yet  is  that  gigantic  pile  impress- 
ive in  its  central  simplicity.  It  holds  no  enig- 
mas. It  appeals  to  all  the  human  family  and 
speaks  in  a  language  all  minds  can  interpret. 
So,  by  a  simple  Christianity  one  must  not  mean  a 
desert.  Around  a  simple  creed  may  be  grouped 
the  rich  details  so  much  loved  by  the  human 
heart. 


40 

In  the  simple  religion  there  is  a  greatness 
which  only  the  greatest  music  and  eloquence  can 
express.  The  grander  the  doctrines  of  the  church, 
the  more  impressive  may  be  the  beauty  which 
they  may  wear.  It  was  often  the  misfortune  of 
Europe  that  it  had  to  place  a  royal  crown-  upon 
the  forehead  of  some  young  idiotic  king,  or  of  a 
royal  leader  in  only  the  infernal  realm  of  vice. 
Happy  Europe  could  it  have  placed  its  crown 
jewels  upon  only  those  foreheads  which  were 
broad  with  wisdom  and  power  and  white  in 
purity! 

Thus  has  the  church  often  attempted  to  attach 
its  gorgeous  service  to  a  little  and  false  thought. 
It  has  waved  its  silken  banners  at  the  burning  of 
a  heretic,  or  has  compelled  its  organ  and  choir  to 
chant  a"TeDeum"  over  fields  soaked  with  in- 
nocent blood.  When  a  simple  greatness  shall 
come  into  the  creed,  then  can  a  new  beauty  come 
into  the  service  of  God's  house;  for,  since  all  the 
arts  are  only  so  many  languages  of  the  soul, they 
will  rise  in  impressiveness  when  at  last  the  soul 
shall  have  great  truths  to  follow  and  express. 

Man  does  not  live  in  a  desert.  It  pleased  the 
■Creator  to  make  wondrously  beautiful  the  world 


47 

of  His  children.  All  that  these  children  make 
and  have  shall  catch  something  of  ornament 
from  the  very  planet  on  which  they  dwell. 

When  Christianity  shall  teach  its  simplest 
forms  of  doctrine, it  will  still  be  in  the  world  of 
music  and  color,  and  all  sweet  and  rich  beauty. 
It  will  ask  ten  thousand  voices  to  join  in  its 
song;  it  may  ask  all  instruments  to  accompany 
the  multitude  in  their  hymn;  it  may  invite  more 
flowers  to  its  altars,  and  then  to  the  material 
emblems  of  what  the  heart  loves  the  simplified 
church  will  add  a  pulpit  which  can  have  no 
themes  but  great  ones,  and  which  can  easily  find 
that  eloquence  which,  as  aroma  lies  hidden  in 
sandal,  wood,  lies  high  and  deep  in  the  being  of 
God,  in  the  life  and  deeds  of  Christ's,  in  the  rela- 
tion of  man  to  man,  and  in  the  mysterious  flow 
of  our  race  toward  death  and  the  scenes  beyond. 


50 

however  valuable  it  might  be  at  the  gates  of 
heaven,  it  was  not  highly  prized  at  Edinburgh, 
nor  was  it  afterwards  admired  by  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. 

While  our  United  States  was  fully  bound  by 
its  constitution  to  protect  the  property  called 
slaves,  the  abolitionists  were  all  called  infidels. 
Their  faith  was  most  useless  because  it  did  not 
include  the  idea  of  the  subjection  of  Africans  to 
the  white  race.  In  those  long  years  the  true, 
pure  faith  included  the  doctrine  that  the  slaves 
must  be  obedient  to  their  masters.  In  those  days 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  moral  scenes  was 
that  of  a  "believing  master."  He  sat  in  his  pew 
in  sweet  accord  with  revelation ;  while  afar  north 
the  infidel  was  hoping  a  great  day  of  liberty 
might  soon  come. 

Thus  for  many  centuries  was  the  word  "faith" 
bent  hither  and  thither  by  the  political  exigencies 
which  lay  around  it.  Those  in  power  were  the 
faithful,  those  out  of  power  were  the  infidels. 
And  after  a  time  the  many  sects  came  to  subject 
the  word  "  faith "  to  further  twisting  and  distor- 
tion. The  Episcopal  Church  of  England  held 
the  "  faith ; "  the  other  sects  had  no  religion.     The 


51 

houses  where  theyniet  were  called  meeting-houses. 
In  Scotland  the  Presbyterians  held  the  faith.  It 
was  not  long  before  the  Baptists  got  possession 
of  it,  and  would  not  commune  with  the  Church 
of  England  or  the  Church  of  Scotland.  In  this 
continent  the  same  scene  was  enacted.  It  has 
been  now  just  about  forty  years  since  a  Presby- 
terian clergyman  published  a  series  of  articles  to 
prove  that  the  Methodists  did  not  hold  the  true 
faith,  and  could  not  hope  for  salvation.  It  is  still 
quite  common  for  some  of  the  most  proud  and 
distinguished  sects  to  confess  that  independents 
may  be  saved  by  some  special  mercy  of  God,  but 
that  there  is  no  visible  provision  made  for  their 
comfort  beyond  the  grave. 

Whoever  will  now  scan  the  horizon  will  not 
fail  to  note  that  the  grand  cardinal  word  in  re- 
ligion is  making  its  escape  from  both  the  state 
and  the  sects,  and  is  beginning  to  enjoy  the  lib- 
erty and  the  fullness  of  itself. 

Epictetus  was  for  twenty  years  a  slave.  He 
possessed  a  mind  equal  to  that  of  Plato.  He  was 
learned,  just,  patient,  deep-thinking,  but  he  was 
for  half  a  life-time  the  servant  of  some  classic 
nabob.  He  had  his  leg  broken  by  one  master.  At 


52 

last  lie  gained  his  liberty,  and  at  once  began  to 
receive  the  friendship  of  scholars  and  thinkers,  and 
began  to  bless  Home  with  his  morals  and  phil- 
osophy. Not  otherwise,  "  Faith,"  a  being  of  a 
divine  genius  and  of  a  noble  ancestry  which  ran 
back  to  Abraham,  having  a  philosophy  deeper 
than  that  of  Greek  or  Roman,  and  being  more 
poetic  than  many  Homers,  was  long  a  slave,  and 
was  scourged  with  whips  in  many  a  land.  At 
last  this  beautiful  slave  has  found  liberty,  and 
hails  now  the  new  arena  of  labor  and  joy.  For 
a  long  time  she  was  a  slave  of  the  State,  and 
was  compelled  to  fill  all  mean  and  cruel  offices. 
Then  she  was  the  slave  of  many  sects,  and  was 
compelled  to  obey  instantly  the  mandate  of  a 
hard  master.  At  last  this  most  noble  slave  has 
found  liberty.  It  is  not  her  first  taste  of  free- 
dom. She  was  free  when  Abraham  was  trusting 
in  God,  and  when  Christ  was  saying,  "  Our 
Father  who  art  in  Heaven." 

In  late  months  many  distinguished  persons 
have  gone  from  the  world,  and  "  all  these  have 
died  in  the  faith."  Time  was  when  we  could  not 
have  enjoyed  such  a  thought.  Once  Tennyson, 
Whittier,    Mr.    Hayes,  Mr.  Brooks,  would  have 


53 

been  looked  upon  as  living  wholly  outside  the 
bounds  of  a  saving  belief.     Tennyson's  creed  was 
exceedingly  brief.     To  a  life-long  friend  he  said: 
"There    is  a  power  that  watches  over   us,   and 
our  individuality  endures.     This  is  all  my  faith." 
He  said:  "My  greatest  wish  is  to  have  a  clearer 
vision   of    God."     In    a   moment   of    irony,  not 
badly    founded,    he    said:     "The    majority    of 
Englishmen  think  of  God  as  an  'immeasurable 
clergyman.'  "     The  idea   in  religion  which  this 
poet  loved  with  most  passion  was  that  of  a  life 
after  death.     Our  age  does   not   know  in  what 
details  of  religious  thought  any  one  of  these  men 
lived  and   died.     A  local   high-churchman  inti- 
mates that  Phillips  Brooks  was  a  Unitarian.     It 
is  not  generally  known  what  was  the  religious 
creed  of  Mr.  Hayes.     It  would  thus  seem   that 
not  only  is  the  special  creed  not  vital,  but  it  has 
ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  common  curiosity.    The 
life  of  each  one   of   these  men  was  plainly  seen, 
and  the  religious  nature  of  each  was  plainly  vis- 
ible.    In  the    faith    they    lived    and   died.     In 
them  we   see  a  faith    that    was    free — free   not 
from  its  own  intrinsic  worth,  but  free  from  the 
chains  of  a  slave. 


54 

What  a  misfortune  should  some  potentate 
catch  you  and  twist  your  thumbs  or  arms  to  make 
you  a  Catholic,  or,  if  you  were  a  good  Catholic, 
to  make  you  a  Protestant!  To  what  a  blessed 
freedom  has  faith  come!  The  emancipation  of 
our  slaves  is  a  scene  scarcely  more  impressive 
than  this  emancipation  of  faith.  It  will  never 
return  to  the  old  bondage,  because  that  advance 
of  intelligence  which  gained  this  liberty  will 
keep  the  prize  it  has  won.  The  contest  of  the 
present  is  between  faith  and  atheism.  The  sects 
were  but  little  against  each  other,  because  all 
the  phases  of  Christian  faith  are  of  one  essence, 
the  antagonist  of  which  is  atheism,  or  that  other 
unbelief  which  abandons  all  inquiry  as  hopeless. 

The  modern  faith  stands  forth  a  new  creature. 
Like  many  other  ideas,  it  has  been  deeply  affected 
by  the  study  of  human  rights.  The  knowledge  of 
right  no  more  comes  to  man  without  study  than 
astronomy  or  geography  comes  to  him  without 
his  research.  Ignorance  of  rights  is  as  natural  as 
ignorance  of  mathematics  or  of  languages. 
Olden  times  used  to  speak  of  the  divine  right  of 
kings.  The  modern  nations  have  taken  away 
the  divineness  of  that  right   and  have  placed  a 


00 


king^  right  alongside  that  of  a  carpenter  or  a 
blacksmith — a  right  that  depends  upon  the  wish 
of  the  people. 

Along  with  this  divine  right  of  kings  came 
the  divine  right  of  a  white  man  to  enslave  black 
men,  and  along  with  these  moral  notions  came 
the  divine  right  of  a  husband  to  whip  his  wife. 
In  the  old  economy  the  wife  and  daughter  were 
at  the  mercy  of  the  great  masculine  head  of  the 
house.  It  has  been  fully  two  hundred  years  since 
civilization  began  in  earnest  the  study  of  the 
rights  of  humanity;  and  the  progress  mankind 
has  made  in  inventions  and  discoveries  is  not 
greater  than  the  advance  it  has  made  in  unveil- 
ing the  privileges  of  each  soul.  All  human  be- 
ings suddenly  find  themselves  in  a  larger  world. 
Each  pursuit,  each  honor,  each  office,  each  pleas- 
ure is  open  to  all.  There  are  a  few  criminal  laws 
which  come  between  a  bad  man  and  his  fellow 
creatures,  but  the  forbidden  field  is  small  com- 
pared with  the  field  of  personal  liberty.  Men 
like  Tennyson  and  Whittier  have  lived  a  long  life 
in  the  world  without  being  aware  of  any  limita- 
tion of  their  freedom.  The  only  compulsion  from 
which  they  suffered  was   from  the  world  outside 


56 

of  man.  Death  came  and  commanded  them  to 
go  away  from  earth.  They  obeyed  in  sweet  sub- 
mission ;  but  as  for  this  world,  it  overflowed  with 
the  full  tide  of  emancipation. 

This  deep  study  and  love  of  privileges  have 
affected  religious  faith,  because, in  confessing  the 
liberties  of  the  individual,  society  has  taken  away 
the  right  of  society  to  touch  a  Quaker,  or  a  Cal- 
vinist,or  a  Methodist, or  a  Baptist.  In  the  name 
of  all  great  principles,  all  are  one,  because  these 
variations  of  thought  and  belief  do  not  affect 
character  or  conduct.'  As  soon  as  the  highest 
forms  of  law  began  to  tolerate  all  forms  of  relig- 
ious opinion, then  society  began  also  to  smile  at 
those  differences  of  views  which  once  seemed  so 
great.  It  was  necessary  for  law  to  run  on  in  ad- 
vance of  the  church  and  announce  the  harmless- 
ness  and  the  right  of  opinion.  The  church  had 
not  the  courage  nor  the  motive  that  gave  promise 
of  a  democracy.  It  desired  to  urge  onward  its 
peculiar  form  of  thought.  It  was  necessary  for 
a  heroic  politics  to  come,  and,  after  the  State  had 
made  many  names  and  many  forms  of  thought  all 
lawful  in  one  republic,  the  church  could  not  but 
follow  and  admit  a  large  group  of  sects  into  one 


57 

religion.  If  a  nation  could  contain  many  forms 
of  politicians  and  join  them  all  in  the  one  name 
of  patriot,  so  the  church  could  follow  such  a 
path  and  designate  as  Christians  the  members  of 
a  hundred  sects.  Thus  had  liberty  and  politics 
soon  created  a  liberty  in  religion. 

As  a  republic  assembles  human  beings  in  the 
name  of  all  the  wants  that  are  general,  assembles 
them  in  the  name  of  those  places  where  all  the 
paths  of  action  and  being  meet,  so  religion  could 
not  but  imitate  a  republic,  and  make  its  "faith  " 
expand  so  as  to  include  many  millions  of  minds 
which,  differing  in  many  lesser  ideas,  were  all  one 
in  some  great  principles.  Thus  the  power  which 
shattered  the  thrones  of  the  old  kincrs  shattered 
also  the  thrones  of  the  Calvinist  and  the  Catholic 
and  j)ermitted  Faith  to  go  free.  Faith  is  free, 
because  it  is  a  time  of  wide  emancipation. 

To  the  influence  of  republicanism  must  be 
added  the  power  of  increased  reason.  That  was 
only  a  feeble  intellect  which  could  once  assume 
that  the  infinite  Deity  would  make  a  belief  in  a 
certain  astronomy  essential  to  the  salvation  of  the 
soul.  Yet  when  Galileo  announced  that  the  earth 
went  around  the  sun, his  soul  was  imperiled.    The 


58 

modern  reason  can  not  suppose  that  a  form  of 
baptism  plays  any  part  in  the  future  destiny  of 
an  adult  or  infant  soul.  The  modern  reason  can 
not  find  this  final  salvation  located  in  any  one 
church,  for  as  you  would  not  require  of  a  candi- 
date for  the  Presidency  that  he  should  be  born  in 
a  frame  house,  or  a  log  house,  or  a  brick  house, 
so  you  can  not  possibly  assume  that  a  candidate 
for  heaven  must  have  been  reared  in  the  Episco- 
pal or  Methodist  society. 

It  has  been  claimed  by  the  Catholics  and  high 
churchmen  that  the  soul  could  reach  heaven  only 
through  their  walls,  but  all  the  great  Romanists, 
at  least,  have  abandoned  this  thought,  and  the 
recent  Popes  and  Cardinals  claim  only  that  their 
sanctuary  is  the  best  way  to  Paradise,  but  no 
longer  the  only  road.  All  the  old  exclusiveness 
of  the  churches  thus  falls  to  the  ground.  Reason 
is  a  new  earthquake  under  these  old  miraculous 
walls,  and,  while  they  are  crumbling  to  the  dust, 
human  souls  are  flocking  to  heaven  from  the  fire- 
side of  many  a  home  and  from  those  woods  and 
fields  which  were  so  full  of  the  presence  of  God. 
Modern  intellects  can  no  more  connect  the  word 
"Salvation"    with  the  word    "Episcopacy,"    or 


59 

"  Catholic,"  or  "  Calvinism,"  than  they  can  make 
it  depend  upon  Gothic  churches  or  upon  the  pres- 
ence of  a  great  clock  in  the  church  tower.  Church 
chimes  are  indeed  beautiful  to  hear  in  a  summer 
evening,  but  beautiful  also  is  the  sighing  of  the 
great  boughs  of  the  oaks  and  elms,  and  the  In- 
finite cares  not  which  sound  the  heart  chooses 
for  its  vesper  tone.  Once,  when  a  Greek  village 
was  burning,  the  farmer  saw  a  philosopher  pass- 
ing out,  but  carrying  nothing.  He  said  to  him, 
"Have  you  lost  everything?"  and  he  said:  "I 
have  lost  nothing,  for  there  was  nothing  of  me 
except  myself."  Thus  our  age  is  rapidly  hurry- 
ing to  that  point  when  religious  persons  can  wor- 
ship in  any  sanctuary  or  grove,  because  they  are 
carrying  their  divine  sentiment  and  obligation  in 
their  hearts.  They  carry  nothing  in  their  hands. 
They  can  place  the  left  hand  upon  the  bosom 
and  say:  "This  is  all  there  is  of  me."  Such  is 
the  modern  faith — free,  great  and  loving. 

Within  the  borders  of  Christianity  its  objects 
are  God  and  Jesus  Christ;  in  the  rationalized 
religions  its  supreme  object  is  God  alone.  In 
either  field  faith  is  adequate,  for  if,  as  we  are 
taught  by  the  present  Christianity, God  and  Christ 


are   one,  then  the  utterance  of  Jesus  is  doubly 
true,  and  they  who  have  seen  the  Father  have 
seen  the  Son.     In  this  logic  the  Unitarian  and  the 
Jew  can  not  escape  the  worship  of  the  Trinity, 
because  the  Father  and  the  Son  and  the  Spirit  are 
inseparable  forever.     Such  ought  to  be  the  ortho- 
dox estimate  of  the  objects  of  faith.     It  remains 
more  real  and  true  that  either  of  these  faiths  is 
the  glory  and  safety  of  man's  being.    If  we  claim 
that  a  personal  faith  in  Christ  is  essential, we  take 
away  not  only  the  piety  and  hoj)e  from  the  pagan 
lands,  but  we  overthrow  the  worship  of  that  vast 
Hebrew  republic  and  empire  which  was  as  full 
of  faith  as  our  prairies  in   summer  are  full  of 
flowers.     And, furthermore, if  looking  to  Christ  is 
essential, then  comes  the  inquiry:     "Whither  did 
Christ, himself, look?"    Richter  asks  this  delight- 
ful question:  "Whither  do  those  sunflowers  point 
which  grow  upon  the  sun?"     To  whom  did  Jesus 
pray?     Oh,  ye  Jews!     Ye  Unitarians!      Ye  de- 
vout ones  in  all  the  pagan  lands !     Hesitate  not  to 
pass  in  silence  all  the  theological  schools  on  the 
earth  and  j>ray  to  our  Father  in  heaven!     Jesus 
of  Nazareth  did  not  come  to  destroy  such  a  wor- 
ship, he  came  to  make  faith  grow  more  powerful 


61 

in  all  the  generations  which  should  come  after 
his  appearing.  He  did  not  come  to  limit  the 
beauty  of  earth  or  to  make  faith  difficult,  but 
rather  he  came  to  make  an  intelligent  and  simple 
trust  in  God  the  grandest  sentiment  in  man's  life. 
Had  Christ  been  present  when  each  martyr  was 
bound  to  the  stake  for  some  deviation  in  the  paths 
of  theology,  he  would  have  unfastened  every  cord 
and  have  bidden  each  prisoner  go  free;  had  he 
been  present  in  authority  in  the  fourth  century 
when  the  pagan  Hypatia  was  lecturing  on  the 
gods  and  the  high  spirituality  of  Plato,  he  would 
have  been  a  rapt  listener  to  such  a  spotless  life 
and  to  such  a  high  eloquence;  and  the  Christian 
Bishops  would  not  have  dared  butcher  such  a 
worshiper  and  stain  the  streets  of  Alexandria 
with  the  blood  of  a  bosom  so  religious,  so  learned, 
so  white. 

Our  age  having  thus  emancipated  faith,  it 
clothes  it  each  year  with  new  dignity.  The 
age  which  simplifies  it  makes  it  more  sublime. 
That  power  which  detaches  Christian  belief  from 
the  Gothic  windows,  from  the  candles  on  the 
altar,  and  from  the  chimes  in  the  towers,  hands 
it  over  to  society  as  a  philosophy  of  the  human 


62 

career.  When  an  atheist  utters  his  negatives  and 
deduces  all  forms  and  all  life  from  only  dust,  he 
has  no  outlook  for  himself,  and  can  offer  noth- 
ing to  mankind.  Not  only  does  each  individual 
life  cease  wholly  at  the  grave,  but  it  is  without 
great  impulse  while  it  is  passing  its  days  in  this 
world.  Having  come  without  a  cause  it  wanders 
causelessly  onward.  It  has  no  errand  and  needs 
no  inspiration. 

Contrasted  with  such  a  negative  mind,  faith 
comes  to  man  as  a  philosophy.  Faith  in  God, 
faith  in  the  Son  of  Man  as  God  in  the  flesh,  rises 
up  in  all  the  dignity  of  a  sublime  science.  Under 
the  United  States  lies  a  group  of  great  laws. 
They  are  gathered  up  into  a  constitution,  and  this 
day  all  the  States  which  lie  in  such  a  large  num- 
ber between  the  two  seas,  and  all  the  citizens  in 
these  States  extract  from  those  principles  their 
progress  and  happiness.  Faith  in  God  is  a  simi- 
lar constitution  under  the  soul.  It  is  a  vast  the- 
ory which  permeates  the  bulk  of  man's  years.  It  is 
with  man  wherever  he  goes.  As  each  day  he  sees 
the  sun  forever  coming  back  into  his  childhood, 
his  youth,  his  middle  life,  his  old  age,  the  same 
sun  sprinkling  the  fiftieth  year  as  it  sprinkled  the 


63 

first,  so  eacli  day  man  goes  forth  in  this  faith — a 
strange  encompassment  from  which  he  can  notes- 
cape.  Often,  indeed,  is  this  faith  clouded,  and 
days  come  and  go  without  the  brilliancy  of  noon, 
but  even  then  a  diffused  light  filters  down  through 
the  clouds,  and  the  heart  full  of  sadness  carries 
still  a  blessed  hope. 

It  is  an  error  of  many  pulpits  that  they  make 
faith  only  a  means  of  saving  the  soul  from  God's 
wrath.  There  is  in  our  East  a  preacher  who  de- 
clines the  invitation  to  meet  next  summer  in  any 
congress  of  religions.  He  asks  if  he  is  expected 
to  mingle  his  pious  books  and  truths  with  those 
of  Swedenborg  and  Mozoomdar  and  Channing  ? 
In  his  words  one  may  note  at  once  that  he  thinks 
of  "faith1'  as  a  machine  for  performing  a  singu- 
lar task.  His  machine  is  inseparable  from  robes, 
holy  water  and  thirty-nine  articles.  Such  a  mind 
would  be  out  of  place  indeed  in  a  congress  of  re- 
ligions; for  such  a  congress  would  love  to  see 
faith,  not  as  being  a  sectarian  potency,  but  as  be- 
ing a  philosophy  which  encompassed  Jacob's  pil- 
low with  a  vision  of  angels  thousands  of  years 
before  the  little  candles  were  lighted  by  this 
eastern  altar,  and  which  made  Christ  look  to  God 


64 

and  Heaven  long  before  this  modern  priest  made 
himself  comely  in  vestments. 

The  congress  of  religions  must  be  an  effort  to 
teach  all  clergymen  and  the  thinking  millions 
that  there  is  a  faith  which  has  been  and  is  and 
will  be  the  philosophy  of  man's  coming  hither  and 
of  his  going  hence.     As  Bishop  Keane,  the  Cath- 
olic, could  leave  his  Roman  College  for  a  day    to 
talk  to  the  Unitarians  on  the  being  of  God,  as  he 
possessed  the  intelligence  which  could  think  for 
an  hour  away  from  the  ideas  of  transubstantiation 
and  a  Holy  Father  at  Rome,   so  can  all  minds 
which  possess  any  traces  of  greatness  find  in  a  re- 
ligious congress  some  life-like  portrait  of  religious 
faith.     As  a  thousand  voices  can  in  music  join  in 
the    "Hallelujah   Chorus,1'    and   make  the  holy 
song  beat  upon  the   listener's  heart   as  the  sea 
smites  its  rocky  shores,  so   can   a  thousand  re- 
ligions combine  in    eloquence  which  can    make 
faith  in  God  stand  forth  as  the  matchless  phil- 
osophy of  our  race.     Grand  congress,   to  which 
each  one  coming  will  leave  behind  him  his  little- 
ness, and  journey,   carrying  with    him  only  the 
greatest  truth  of  his  hours  of  worship — a   con- 
gress which  will  ask  from  each  man  only  those 
moments  which  are  great! 


65 

What  form  of  philosophy  is  this  modern  faith  ? 
Is  it  an  entangled  web  of  thought  like  that  of 
Hegel?  Is  it  a  problem,  an  enigma,  like  the 
theories  of  Berkeley  and  Locke  ?  It  is  nothing  of 
such  nature.  It  is  something  so  simple  that 
even  optimism  is  a  name  too  learned  for  its  daily 
wear.  The  earliest  youth  casts  its  young  heart 
into  it;  the  missionaries  have  taught  the  Indians 
to  sing  its  hymn.  To  teach  simplicity,  Isaac 
Newton  became  a  child.  To  illustrate  its  sim- 
plicity, Christ  used  the  humblest  of  all  speech, 
and  wore  the  simplest  robe,  and  took  little 
children  up  into  his  arms;  and  when  lately 
our  great  men  were  dying,  one  of  them  said: 
"I  shall  soon  be  with  my  loved  one  ;"  the  other 
said:     "  I  am  going  home." 

Let  us,  indeed,  call  this  modern  faith  the  op- 
timism of  our  world — the  most  roseate  optimism 
which  has  yet  emerged  from  the  heart  of  the 
common  man  or  from  the  porch  of  philosophy. 
Strange  to  say,  it  issued  from  all  human  con- 
ditions at  once.  While  the  philosopher  was 
framing  its  agreement,  the  negro  and  red  man 
were  chanting  its  psalm;  and  while  the  divine 
Jesus   was   preaching   its    hopes    and   promises, 


66 

a  group  of  fishermen  became  inspired  and  a  com- 
mon womanhood  baptized  it  with  happy  tears. 
It  is  the  optimism  of  earth.  It  shakes  the  poison 
out  of  all  our  wild  flowers.  In  eloquence, it  sur- 
jjasses  all  the  orators;  in  poetry,it  transcends  all 
the  poets ;  it  is  time's  greatest  music ;  it  is  man's 
greatest  gallery  of  art.  Happy  the  young  per- 
sons who  are  just  entering  this  arena  of  a  free  and 
vast  faith.  Happy  fate, to  live  where  many  creeds 
mingle  into  one,  and  where  many  denominations 
meet  in  one  love  for  mankind  and  God!  The 
young  heart  which  can  appreciate  such  a  sim- 
plicity of  belief  need  not  stand  aloof  from  the  or- 
ganic churches;  for  a  denomination  is  nothing 
but  a  brotherhood  organized  for  both  the  duties 
and  pleasures  of  religion.  No  soldier  should 
love  to  march  or  battle  alone.  His  heart  wishes 
to  hear  the  tramp  of  a  regiment,  and  to  see  at 
times  the  flag  of  a  great  cause.  Thus  the  relig- 
ious heart  should  never  attempt  to  march  the  way 
of  salvation  alone.  It  can,  indeed,  all  alone,  un- 
baptized,  find  piety  and  find  heaven,  but  the 
highest  usefulness  and  the  highest  happiness 
come,when  hand  is  joined  with  hand,  and  when 
the  heart  feels  the  presence  of  a  host  of  glori- 


67 

ous  comrades,  and  when  the  ear  catches  the 
hymn  of  high  worship  snug  by  many  voices.  The 
fields  and  sky  inspire,  spring  inspires,  summer 
inspires;  hut  man  extracts  most  of  his  inspiration, 
not  from  skies  and  oceans,  but  from  what  is 
greater  than  all  else — the  mysterious  God-like 
humanity. 


pbillipa  Brooks. 

Honor  all  men.   Love  the  brotherhood.    Fear  God.— I  Peter   ii.  17. 

It  would  be  an  act  of  ingratitude  were  this 
congregation  to  pass  in  silence  the  death  of 
Phillips  Brooks.  Our  church  lay  on  the  outer 
border  of  his  bishopric.  When,  two  or  three 
years  ago, in  a  loftiness  of  body  which  was  only 
an  emblem  of  a  loftiness  of  mind,  this  preacher 
walked  down  this  aisle  to  join  you  in  worship, 
you  all  felt  as  though  he  were  an  elder  brother 
in  your  religious  family,  and  had  come  to  visit 
his  kin.  Many  of  you, when  spending  a  Sunday 
in  the  city  where  this  modern  apostle  spoke,  went 
joyfully  to  hear  words  which  you  knew  would 
fall  like  manna  from  the  sky.  At  last  each  of 
you  seemed  to  hold  some  personal  interest  in 
Phillips  Brooks;  and  now  to-day  we  must  all 
come  up  to  his  memory  bringing  our  tears. 
Chosen  Bishop  in  1891,  the  new  title  could  not 
make  much  headway  against  the  name  of  Phil- 
lips. In  instances  not  a  few,  when  the  title  of 
"Bishop"  is  conferred  upon  a  preacher,  it  does 
not   take  the  previous  name  of  the   man    more 


09 

than  a  few  minutes  to  get  out  of  the  way.  If 
large  bodies  move  slowly,  the  converse  ought  to 
be  true  and  tell  us  why,  of  ten,  when  a  common 
preacher  is  made  Bishop,  his  name  as  a  human 
being  instantly  disappears.  In  the  case  of  this 
great  friend  who  has  bidden  us  "good-by,"  the 
human  being  could  not  be  easily  displaced  by 
any  office  in  the  gift  of  the  church.  As  the 
names  of  Edmund  Burke  and  William  Pitt  and 
Daniel  Webster  never  needed  any  decoration 
from  the  catalogue  of  epithets,  thus  the  name  of 
Phillips  Brooks  did  not  take  kindly  to  any  form 
of  prefix  or  supjilernent.  If  the  peculiar  duties 
of  the  office  could  have  gone  without  carrying  a 
title  with  them, the  scene  would  have  been  hap- 
pier; but  to  attempt  to  confer  upon  Phillips 
Brooks  a  title  was  too  much  like  painting  the 
pyramids. 

William  Pitt  was  called  the  "Great  Com- 
moner" not  only  because  he  was  a  member  of  the 
"  House,"  but  because  he  was  by  nature  a  dealer 
in  the  most  universal  of  ideas — those  ideas  which 
were  good  not  only  for  royal  families  but  for  all 
mankind.  When  the  Colonies  attempted  to  se- 
cure their  right  from  the  Crown,  Mr.  Pitt  gave 


70 

his  eloquence  to  the  cause  of  the  Colonies,  be- 
cause his  mind  could  see  the  human  race  more 
easily  than  it  could  see  the  little  group  of  gran- 
dees with  the  King  at  their  head.  Into  the  mind 
of  Pitt  all  the  human  rights  which  had  been  de- 
tected and  expressed  between  the  Greek  period 
and  the  time  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham  crowded  to 
be  reloved  and  respoken.  As  science  deals  in 
the  universal  truth  about  trees  or  stones  or  stars, 
so  William  Pitt  dealt  in  the  propositions  which 
held  true  in  all  lands. 

In  the  vast  empire  of  religions  Phillips  Brooks 
was  the  "  great  commoner."  Whether  his  mind 
passed  through  the  pages  of  the  gospel,  or  read 
as  best  it  could  the  history  of  the  primitive 
church,  or  read  the  confessions  of  Augustine  and 
saw  him  pick  up  a  psalter  or  heard  him  pray  for 
the  dead,  or  if  he  read  all  over  the  dogmas  and 
practices  of  the  Roman  Catholic  fathers,  he  al- 
ways emerged  from  the  study  infatuated  with 
only  those  truths  and  customs  which  seemed  most 
needful  to  the  character  and  salvation  of  the  hu- 
man multitude.  He  never  possessed  the  power 
to  turn  a  little  incident  into  a  great  doctrine. 
He  could  not  by  any  means  mistake  a  piece  of 


71 

the  cross  for  a  potency  which  could  heal  disease; 
nor  was  he  able  to  look  upon  a  lighted  candle  as 
playing  any  part  in  any  form  of  natural  or 
revealed  religion.  He  stood  at  that  point  where 
all  the  Christian  sects  meet.  No  preacher  could 
go  to  Christ  without  seeing  this  brother  as  being 
in  the  same  path.  All  denominations  walked 
with  him  and  enjoyed  a  conversation  which  made 
their  hearts  burn  on  the  way.  He  was  like  that 
lofty  arch  in  Paris  toward  which  all  the  great 
streets  seem  to  run.  When  we  think  of  the  dis- 
cords which  are  now  sounding  all  through  the 
field  of  both  the  Catholic  and  Protestant  denom- 
inations, we  must  recall  Phillips  Brooks  as  the 
reconciliation  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

But  no  one  who  loves  war  can  fill  the  office  of 
such  a  "great  commoner."  That  fame  must  rest 
on  an  intellect  which  is  wreathed  with  the  gar- 
lands of  peace.  This  man  did  not  fight  the 
ritualists  or  the  Romanists;  he  came  forward 
with  the  large  and  positive  truths  of  religion  and 
permitted  all  that  was  false  or  little  to  die  of 
neglect.  His  pulpit  was  so  full  of  light  that  his 
people  forgot  to  bring  candles  to  the  chancel; 
the    fragrance    of   the    gospel  was  so  exceeding 


n 


sweet  that  no  acolytes  were  needed  to  swing 
smoking  censers  in  front  of  the  holy  altar.  We 
have  all  sat  before  him  when  the  light  was  all 
in  his  forehead  and  the  incense  all  in  his  heart. 

In  the  late  generations  the  Episcopal  Chnrch 
has  been  producing  some  great  men.  When  the 
clergy  of  that  denomination  in  England  had  be- 
come remarkable  for  the  absence  of  learning  and 
piety,  and  remarkable  for  the  presence  of  igno- 
rance, indolence  and  vice;  when  few  who  wore  the 
name  of  clergyman  possessed  education  enough 
to  compose  a  sermon,  and  had  not  piety  enough 
to  care  for  the  parish  whose  taxes  they  consumed, 
the  Wesley  an  reform  sprang  up.  That  effort 
was  wholly  a  contempt  for  a  dead  sanctuary  and 
an  ardent  longing  for  a  religion  like  that  of  the 
Savior  of  men.  It  was  a  new  effort  to  rescue  the 
tomb  of  Christ  from  the  hand  of  the  new  infidels. 
Jonathan  Swift  and  Laurence  Sterne  had  divided 
their  time  between  the  writings  for  the  pulpit 
and  writings  for  the  promotion  of  depravity. 

Sterne  published  a  few  sermons,  but  his  liter- 
ary books  were  so  disreputable  that  the  sermons 
were  soon  forgotten  in  the  pleasure  which  the 
vulgarity  of  "Tristram  Shandy"  gave  to  that  age. 


73 

It  was  the  prevalence  of  such  churchmen  that 
compelled  Wesley  to  rise  up  in  behalf  of  a  Chris- 
tian life  that  bade  fair  to  be  forgotten.  Wesley - 
ism  did  not  contemplate  a  new  church;  it  was  an 
uprising  against  ecclesiastical  infamy.  Awakened 
by  Wesleyism,  the  National  Episcopacy  under- 
went a  great  reform  and  ran  boldly  forward. 

A  pulpit  paid  by  national  taxes  easily  falls 
from  virtue,  and,  as  often  there  were  parochial 
schools  where  the  teacher  regularly  drew  a  sal- 
ary from  the  state  but  had  an  empty  school-house, 
so  there  were  pulj)its  which  gave  a  living  to  some 
man  in  holy  orders,  who  seldom  read  a  service 
and  still  less  frequently  wearied  himself  or  an 
audience  with  a  discourse.  It  is  now  about  fifty 
years  since  there  came  to  the  English  Episcopal 
Church  a  second  great  impulse.  It  was  not  wholly 
a  reform,  but  it  poured  into  that  old  sanctuary  so 
much  new  piety  and  enthusiasm  that  it  can  not 
but  be  called  a  marked  part  of  a  forward  move- 
ment. It  passes  now  in  history  under  any  one 
of  several  names:  the  "tractarian  movement,11 
or  the  "high-church  movement,'11  or  the  "ritual- 
istic movement,11  or  "  Puseyism.11  A  few  minds, 
deeply  religious, — men  who  in  the    seventeenth 


74 

century  would  have  been  the  companions  of  Fen- 
elon — began  to  study  the  far-off  church  of  the 
fathers.  They  longed  to  rebuild  their  plundered 
and  razed  Jerusalem.  In  the  long  reign  of  vice 
and  neglect  even  the  beautiful  buildings  of  God 
had  become  battered  ruins.  The  house  was  as 
fallen  as  the  heart. 

These  men,  sons  of  Oxford,  went  back  in  his- 
tory to  find  that  day  of  splendor  at  which  the  wor- 
ship of  God  began  to  sink.  They  shoveled  away  the 
earth  from  their  buried  Pompeii  and  soon  found 
the  rich  old  colors  upon  the  long  hidden  walls. 
It  was  a  most  valuable  labor  of  history  and  love, 
for  out  of  it  came  the  rebuilding  and  repairing  of 
the  churches  and  chapels  of  England ;  and  came 
also  a  living  religion  which  joined  a  pure  belief 
to  a  holy  life.  Hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars 
soon  went  into  the  rebuilding  of  the  houses  of 
religion;  but  there  is  no  money  which  can  express 
the  new  Christianity  which  began  at  once  to 
re-adorn  the  soul. 

The  men  who  came  back  from  that  historic 
study,  and  who  joined  in  this  pious  renaissance, 
soon  divided  into  two  classes,  the  high  church 
and  low  church,  the  former  comprising  those  men 


75 

who  brought  back  all  the  rites  and  emblazonry 
of  the  earlier  times,  while  the  low  church  be- 
came eclectic,  and,  feeling  that  the  present  had 
outgrown  the  emblematic  period,  asked  England 
to  accept  the  simple  religion  of  Jesus  and  his 
apostles.  The  high  church  became  enamored  of 
all  they  discovered  and  made  valuable  old  atti- 
tudes, old  positions,  a  facing  the  east,  showy 
vestments,  priestly  offices,  candles,  incense,  con- 
fessional, and  many  a  genuflection. 

These  were  the  ritualists,with  whom  the  sandal 
of  a  Christ  was  the  essential  part  of  the  Savior  of 
mankind.  The  low  church  became  equally  en- 
amored only  of  that  part  of  the  New  Testament 
which  they  found  in  the  old  lava  beds, and,  mak- 
ing of  little  moment  the  robes  and  motions  and 
incense  of  the  remote  yesterday,  they  espoused 
Christianity  which  reached  out  a  kind  hand 
toward  the  sects  which  had  filed  down  from  Cal- 
vin and  Wesley.  The  high  church  used  its 
relics  for  building  a  wall  around  itself.  And 
thus  it  stands  to-day,walled  in, and  as  exclusive  as 
though  it  feared  that  its  friendship  might  escape 
and  be  wasted  upon  a  Presbyterian  or  a  AVesleyan, 
and  as  though  the  love  of  God  might  escape  and 


76 

invade  some  meeting-house  which  did  not  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  or  might  escape  and  save 
some  infant  that  was  dying  at  midnight  without 
being  baptized. 

It  can  not  in  reason  be  charged  upon  the  rit- 
ualists that  they  make  religion  too  ornate.  Man 
has  not  lived  in  this  world  long  enough  to  enable 
him  to  say  that  any  part  of  life  can  hold  too  much 
of  real  beauty.  The  temperate  zone  from  the 
Gulf  to  the  St.  Lawrence  is  beautiful  in  June,  but 
it  has  never  dared  laugh  at  the  more  abundant 
blossomings  of  the  tropics.  Many  of  us  have  had 
happy  moments  in  those  sanctuaries  where  grand 
choral  music  has  marched  up  and  down  and  in 
and  out. 

There  may  be  other  minds  which  love  to  face 
the  east,  and  other  minds  which  love  to  see 
incense  rising  as  though  it  were  carrying  heaven- 
ward the  burden  of  human  prayers.  Persons  of 
little  or  much  culture  must  be  eclectics  in  the 
realm  of  beauty  for  the  church,  or  city,  or  the 
home.  If  the  ritualists  feel  proud  of  a  pictured 
religion,  and  ask  that  many  texts  of  scripture  be 
uttered  in  material  emblems,  and  that  the  candles 
of  Solomon's  Temple  reappear  in  the    modern 


77 

house  of  God,  they  have  a  taste  we  are  all  bound 
to  respect.  We  concede  the  same  right  to  those 
Christians  who  love  the  rite  of  washing  each  other's 
feet.  We  confess  the  ritualism  of  the  Salvation 
Army,  which  pictures  Christ  as  the  Captain  of 
their  host  and  which  follows  Paul  in  the  dream 
of  being  a  good  soldier  of  the  Lord.  Let  ritual- 
ism appear  where  it  may,  in  the  high  church,  or 
the  Roman  church,  or  in  the  Salvation  Army,  it 
must  pass  along  as  a  lawful  form  and  variation 
of  human  taste.  Its  harmfulness  has  of  late  years 
come  from  minds,  which, instead  of  admiring  and 
enjoying  ritualism, have  descended  to  the  worship 
of  it— the  worship  of  such  fugitive  and  unim- 
portant accessories — which  made  it  difficult  for 
a  Bishop's  crown  to  reach  a  forehead  which 
loved  the  sublime  spirituality  of  Jesus  more  than 
it  loved  the  fleeting  pageantry  of  perfumes  and 
colors,  and  which  loved  the  face  turned  toward  all 
the  sects  in  their  hour  of  prayer  more  than  he 
loved  a  genuflection  or  a  face  turned  toward  the 
east. 

In  the  east  we  see  only  the  sun,  but  all  around 
this  man  lay  the  hopes  and  griefs  of  the  human 
soul,  more  tremendous  than  a  thousand  suns.     If 


78 

any  proof  were  wanting,  to  show  that  ritualism, 
when  idolized,  turns  men  who  might  have  been 
scholars  and  thinkers  and  orators  into  half  child- 
ish natures,  busy  in  the  ornaments  of  an  altar, like 
children  around  the  Christmas  tree,  that  proof 
may  be  read  in  the  difficulties  which  lay  between 
Phillips  Brooks  and  the  high  office  for  which  he 
seemed  to  have  been  born.  In  itself,  ritualism 
may  be  a  lawful  form  of  religion,  but  history 
shows  that  it  may  be  cultivated  until  it  excludes 
what  it  once  ornamented, and  ends  by  becoming 
only  the  tropical  efflorescence  of  human  vanity. 
A  deep  attachment  to  ritualism  may  be  taken  as 
a  good- by  bidden  by  the  young  preacher  to  the 
height  and  depth  of  thought  which  belongs  to  the 
pulpit  in  all  the  great  period  of  church  life.  A 
high  ritualism  is  a  most  perfect  and  most  alluring 
means  for  keeping  the  mind  of  the  clergyman 
within  the  limits  of  a  perpetual  childhood.  A 
ritualist  ought  to  admire  his  ceremony  as  a  man 
loves  flowers — happy  when  the  blossoms  are  near, 
but  happy  also  in  the  barren  fields  of  winter  or 
in  Sahara's  leafless  sand. 

If  one  thinks  of  the  high  churchmen  and  the 
low  churchmen  as  visiting  the  old  past  to  find 


79 

once  again  the  lost  church  of  the  fathers,  one 
must  see  the  ritualist  entering  our  age,  not  only 
bringing  much  of  the  apostolic  doctrine,  but  also 
as  having  his  arms  full  of  candles,  of  priestly 
robes,  of  curtains  fastened  by  "loops  of  blue  each 
to  its  sister,"  and  full  of  "  badger-skins  dyed  red  " ; 
and  the  same  spectator  must  see  the  low  church- 
man coming  from  that  act  of  exhuming,  carrying 
in  his  hands  the  words  and  deeds  and  life  of  our 
Lord.  You  may  all,  if  you  wish,  admire  many  a 
high  churchman  acting  in  his  peculiar  office,  but 
for  this  absent  Bishop  you  can  not  but  cherish  a 
greater  admiration  and  a  deeper  love.  He  reached 
out  his  hand  to  all  men,  and  so  sincere  was  he 
that  his  hand  always  pointed  out  the  path  of  his 
heart. 

When  the  heart  studies  the  bygone  years,  it 
ought  to  esteem  great  in  the  past  that  which  it 
wishes  to  come  true  in  the  future.  We  ought  to 
look  deeply  at  the  yesterday  in  order  to  catch  the 
image  of  to-morrow.  And,  as  the  soul  of  Phillips 
Brooks  longed  to  see  a  Christian  unity  and  equal- 
ity, longed  to  see  a  civilization  which  should  re- 
semble the  life  of  the  Son  of  Man,  he  gathered  up 
from  the  fathers  the  doctrines  which  tended  to 


so 

make  noble  men  and  to  join  them  into  a  wide 
brotherhood.  The  ritualists  seem,  by  some  error 
of  locality,  to  have  exhumed  the  Mosaic  age;  the 
low- churchmen  seemed  to  have  laid  open  to  view 
a  more  recent  arena — that  of  Jesus. 

In  his  wanderings  in  the  old  religious  world, 
this  lamented  mortal  recalls  that  Dante  who,  in 
his  great  dream,  drew  near  a  holy  mountain, 
which  lifted  up  its  form  not  far  from  the  paradise 
of  his  God.  The  devout  wanderer  did  not  see 
any  candles  or  vestments  or  studied  posturing;  he 
saw  no  apostolic  succession.  The  world  around 
him  was  too  great  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  rites 
and  emblems  of  some  fleeting  year.  One  by  one 
the  angels  came  over  him,  but  each  one  was  chant- 
ing some  benediction  which  had  once  fallen  from 
the  lips  of  the  Master.  No  sooner  had  the  words 
sounded, "Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,1'  than  on 
came  some  other  winged  choristers  saying,"  Blessed 
are  the  merciful.'1  To  the  same  Italian  worshiper 
at  last  a  great  chorus  chanted  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
all  amplified  like  a  tune  in  music  which  breaks 
up  into  four  parts: 

'Oh  Thou  Almighty  Father!  Who  dost  make 
The  heavens  Thy  dwelling,  not  in  bounds  confined, 
But  that  with  love  iutenser  there  Thou  viewest 


81 

Thy  primal  effluence,  hallowed  be  the  name. 

Join  each  created  being  to  extol 

Thy  might,  for  worthy  humblest  thanks  and  praise 

Is  Thy  blessed  Spirit.     May  the  Kingdom's  peace 

Come  unto  us,  for  we,  unless  it  come, 

With  all  our  striving  thither  tend  in  vain. " 

These  are  the  words  which  our  great  American 
"commoner-"  heard  chanted  in  the  lofty  cathedrals 
of  the  past,  and  these  are  the  words  he  wished  to 
hear  sounding  in  the  greater  aisles  and  corridors 
of  the  future.  He  extracted  greatness  from  the 
past  because  he  wished  history  to  be  only  another 
name  for  his  soul's  hope.  His  mind  conceived  of 
a  service  and  an  anthem  too  great  to  be  read  or 
sung  by  his  limited  sect.  His  ritual  must  include 
a  hundred  Books  of  Common  Prayer;  his  vest- 
ments must  include  the  robes  of  a  Louis  XIV, 
the  habit  of  an  exiled  Quaker,  and  the  seamless 
coat  of  Jesus.  He  found  his  universal  and  per- 
petual harmony  in  the  words:  "Blessed  are  the 
pure  in  heart." 

If  you  would  find  a  reason  for  the  confessed 
eloquence  of  this  eminent  Christian,  you  must 
begin  by  studying  the  advantage  found  in  a  mind 
which  loved  the  whole  human  family,  and  then 
loved  all  the  great  truths  which  hold  the  people's 


82 

happiness.  Eloquence  is  the  utterance  of  great 
truths  in  a  manner  worthy  of  the  truths.  But 
there  can  be  no  such  utterance  without  passion. 
This  man  was  capable  of  loving  even  the  negro 
slave.  When  those  old  days  of  trial  were  brood- 
ing over  the  nation,  Phillips  Brooks  flamed  up  on 
the  slaves1  side.  After  the  slaves  were  free  he 
traveled  a  thousand  miles  to  plead  in  this  city  for 
the  cause  of  the  education  and  full  citizenship  of 
those  homeless  Africans.  Only  a  little  group  of 
our  citizens  appeared  in  the  large  hall,  for  the 
orator  was  young  in  his  fame  and  the  city  was 
young  in  its  power  to  appreciate  such  an  appeal 
from  heart  to  heart.  None  the  less  did  the  speech 
run  like  molten  iron  from  a  furnace,  thus  teaching 
us  who  listened  that  oratory  is  great  truth  uttered 
with  great  passion.  Gesture  and  tone  are  insig- 
nificant. 

It  is  necessary  for  this  truth  and  passion  to 
enjoy  the  noble  accessories  of  language  and  style. 
It  is  difficult  for  a  great  mind,  great  heart,  great 
language,  and  good  style,all  to  meet  in  one  human 
being.  The  distance  between  orators  is  therefore 
very  great.  Only  a  few  come  to  us  each  hundred 
years.     In  Bishop  Brooks,  all  these  ingredients 


83 

mingled.  He  had  by  nature  and  by  study  mas- 
tered the  one  language  of  his  race.  It  became  at 
last  the  hundred  gates  of  his  soul's  Thebes.  At 
these  portals  the  riches  of  his  age  passed  in  and 
out.  He  used  no  dead  words,  no  old, worn-out 
phrases, at  which  the  brain  of  the  listener  sinks  to 
sleep.  His  words  were  all  alive,  and  they  came 
singing  like  the  string  and  arrows  of  the  won- 
derful bow  of  Ulysses.  His  words  came  too 
rapidly  indeed,  but  his  ideas  were  instantly  seen 
and  instantly  felt  to  be  true.  Each  word  was  dis- 
tinct, like  a  single  note  in  some  rapid  melody,  an 
inseparable  part  of  a  beautiful  song. 

What  a  simplicity  there  is  in  all  such  high 
speech!  because  the  theme  is  so  large  and  so  ab- 
sorbing that  it  shames  away  the  most  of  artifice, 
and  makes  the  little  art  of  the  piece  wholly  invis- 
ible.. If  those  final  words  ascribed  to  the  Bishop 
were  indeed  spoken,  his  mind  was  not  greatly 
under  a  cloud,  for  the  simple  sentence  whispered 
to  a  servant:  "You  need  not  care  for  me  longer; 
I  am  going  home,"  is  made  of  the  kind  of  words 
which  earth  needs  when  it  is  fading,  and  which 
the  final  home  asks  for  when  it  is  openino-  its 
gates  to  a  noble  spirit,  once  a  pilgrim  here.    Death 


84 

always  asks  for  simple  language, because  its  mys- 
tery and  sadness  and  hope  are  all  the  ornamenta- 
tion the  speaker  or  listener  can  bear.  Ah!  sad 
loss  such  a  being  to  all  the  churches  of  our 
country!  He  was  a  man  so  symmetrical  and  so 
fitted  to  all  the  hours  and  need  of  our  land  that 
the  office  of  bishop  went  to  him,  not  to  add  any- 
thing to  his  fame  or  power, but  to  be  itself  hon- 
ored and  exalted .  It  was  the  office  that  went  to 
be  crowned.  As  an  Episcopal  bishop  he  was 
much  less  than  as  the  great,  free  orator  of  the 
Christian  philosophy.  But  the  terms  "bishop" 
and  "commoner"  are  both  made  sacred  now  by 
the  sudden  advent  of  death. 

It  is  certain  that  this  name  will  long  remain 
the  center  of  a  magic  power.  The  Baptist, with 
his  close  communioD,can  not  but  be  impressed 
with  that  scene  of  brotherhood  which  lies  so  out- 
spread in  this  churchman's  life;  the  Unitarians 
can  also  look  towards  Phillips  Brooks, to  know 
how  rationalism  of  a  high  school  may  be  joined 
to  the  most  marked  spirituality  and  piety;  the 
restless  and  debating  Presbyterians  may  study 
him, to  learn  what  peace  and  usefulness  they  can 
find  in  a  Christianity  many  times   simpler  than 


85 

their  confession  of  faith;  to  him  may  the  low- 
church  look  for  perpetual  vindication;  and  to 
him  should  all  the  young  ritualistic  clergy  turn, 
not  to  abandon  their  pictured  and  highly  colored 
worships,  but  to  mark  how  the  pulpit  of  a  Chris- 
tian teacher  and  thinker  towers  above  the  swing- 
ing of  censers  and  the  adjustment  of  robes  and 
the  graceful  bowing  of  the  body  in  its  acts  of 
devotion.  He  should  warn  them  against  the  folly 
of  a  half  wasted  life. 

While  we  are  thus  standing  by  such  a  grave, 
the  inquiry  comes  from  many  whether  ritualism 
and  Romanism  are  to  displace  the  simpler 
churches  and  come  into  almost  despotic  power . 
Of  this  result  there  seems  little  probability.  The 
broad  church  is  young,  but  ritualism  is  as  old  as 
the  world.  It  ruled  in  the  Mosaic  age.  It  ruled 
in  India,  Egypt,  and  in  all  great  nations  before 
the  Son  of  Man  came,  and  then  entering  Chris- 
tianity it  filled  with  its  pageant  all  temples  up  to 
the  days  of  Luther. 

The  broad  church  has  been  in  the  world  only 
half  a  century.  In  that  brief  period  what  mas- 
ter minds  it  has  produced!  It  is  nothing  else  than 
the  old  Christianity  of  rites  and  doctrines  smitten 


86 

by  the  deeper  thought  of  these  later  generations. 
That  reason  which  has  created  the  modern  world 
will  most  surely  drive  religion  toward  a  holy  life, 
a  simple  piety  and  a  wide  brotherhood.  Roman- 
ism will  be  smitten  by  the  same  hand,  and  one  by 
one  shall  fall  from  it  the  follies  and  vices  which 
that  church  gathered  up  by  passing  through  the 
middle  centuries  of  ignorance  and  sin.  That  new 
thought,  which  has  transformed  despotisms  into 
republics  and  slaves  into  the  citizens  of  England 
and  France,  will  not  spare  the  old  life  and  ideas 
of  the  temple  of  prayer.  The  antiquity  of  Ro- 
manism and  ritualism  will  not  protect  them. 
Many  things  thousands  of  years  old  have  died  in 
this  century.  It  is  the  great  graveyard  of 
antiquity  and  the  beautifully  draped  cradle  of 
a  new  youth. 

When  it  is  said  that  reason  will  smite  the  old 
churches,  it  is  not  meant  that  any  violence  will 
come.  Heaven  keep  violence  far  away  from  all 
those  Roman  and  Protestant  altars  where  our 
parents  said  their  prayers!  Reason  will  smite 
them  only  as  it  smote  the  valley  of  the  Missis- 
sippi and  covered  it  with  civilization ;  smite  them 
only  as   the  sun  smites  the  fields  in  April  and 


87 

makes  them  bloom ;  smite  them  as  reason  touched 
Phillips  Brooks  when  he  was  young  and  made 
his  heart  warm  with  love  and  his  forehead  white 
with  pure  truth. 


1Rew  ZimcQ  HDafee  1ftew  fIDen. 

And  the  child  grew  and  became  strong  in  spirit. — Luke  i.  80. 

We  should  all  be  glad  at  the  return  of  those 
days  which  ask  us  to  study  the  life  of  some  great 
man.  It  is  a  maxim  in  the  old  books  that  youth 
is  taught  by  nothing  so  much  as  by  example. 
All  the  philosophies  and  theories  of  human  life 
are  dull  reading  when  compared  with  a  simple 
history  of  some  actual  heart.  Some  abstract 
writer, like  Hegel  or  Herbert  Spencer, might  have 
told  the  world  what  a  single  human  being  might 
do  were  he  left  alone  upon  an  island  far  from  all 
the  paths  of  the  ships,  but  a  simple  story,  like 
that  of  Selkirk,  outweighs  all  the  a  priori  reason- 
ing that  could  be  written.  Should  some  professor 
off er  to  lecture  to  us  upon  the  vocal  cords,  nerves, 
lungs  and  ribs  that  are  used  in  producing  the 
eight  tones,  very  light  would  be  our  interest  in 
the  lecture  should  Parepa  Rosa  or  Jenny  Lind 
offer  to  us,  instead  of  the  learned  paper, a  great 
throat  full  of  sweet  song.  Thus  biography  comes 
to  us  with  an  unequaled  charm.  It  is  not  a  talk 
about  life;  it  is  life  itself.     In  the  realm  of  the 


89 

abstract  we  are  all  half  infidels.  We  do  net 
believTe  half  you  say.  When  you  come  back 
from  great  scenes  and  attempt  to  tell  us  of  the 
vale  of  Tempe,or  of  Yosemite,  or  of  the  canons 
of  the  West, the  words  fall  dead  in  our  ears. 

A  half  day  in  a  wonderful  spot  of  mountain 
or  sea,  a  half  day  where  the  pyramids  stand 
silently,  or  where  the  Acropolis  mourns  over 
her  scattered  marbles,  takes  all  unbelief  out  of 
the  soul  and  lifts  it  far  above  all  indifference. 
Thus  great  names  like  those  of  Washington, 
Hamilton,  Jefferson,  Madison,  and  Lincoln  are 
the  realities  of  the  great  scene,  and  while  we  are 
in  their  presence  the  theoretical  has  all  stepped 
aside  and  we  seem  gazing  at  real  faces  and  to 
hear  real  voices. 

Mr.  Emerson  says  that  we  all  love  to  read 
history  because  we  make  it  personal  and  are  full 
of  the  feeling  as  to  what  we  should  have  done 
had  we  been  there.  When  we  read  of  the  dome 
of  St.  Peter's,  we  feel  that  it  is  the  kind  of  a 
dome  we  should  have  thought  of  had  we  been  in 
Rome  at  the  time;  and  when  we  read  the  speech 
of  Demosthenes  on  the  Crown,  we  feel  that,  had 
we  been  in  Athens  on  that  day, we  should  have 


90 

been  glad  to  utter  similar  sentiments.  It  is  prob- 
able Emerson's  thought  is  defective;  for  the  great 
beauty  of  history  comes  from  its  power  to  lead 
the  mind  away  from  the  abstract  and  over  to  the 
actual.  Philosophy  may  describe  a  nightingale! 
history  is  the  bird  singing  in  the  hedge  of  blos- 
soming thorn.  Each  object,  be  it  religion,  or 
patriotism,  or  faithfulness,  or  love,  is  best  seen 
in  some  human  being ;  expressed  in  a  life.  The 
popularity  of  a  novel  comes  chiefly  from  its  being 
a  book  in  which  two  or  more  human  beings  act 
out  the  poetry,  joy  and  sadness  of  a  great  senti- 
ment. A  high  novel  is  the  biography  of  an 
attachment. 

"When,  each  winter,  the  day  of  George  Wash- 
ington comes  back  to  us.it  sends  the  mind  off  in 
contemplation  of  some  part  of  the  past  landscape. 
In  no  one  year  can  we  study  and  enjoy  all  the 
picture.  The  birthday  has  passed  by  before  we 
have  feasted  fully  upon  the  foreground  or  back- 
ground or  central  'part  of  the  impressive  canvas. 
How  can  we  exhaust  in  an  hour  a  soul  which  it 
required  centuries  to  create  ?  How  can  we  exam- 
ine in  a  day  a  life  that  was  in  length  sixty-seven 
years?     Those  years  were  all  full  of    events  of 


91 

great  interest,  for  the  latter  days  rolled  back 
their  splendor  upon  the  early  life  and  made  the 
school -house,  the  surveyor's  compass  and  chain, 
and  the  adventures  among  the  Indians,  all  full 
and  active  partners  of  the  times  of  battling  for 
liberty, and  of  the  times  of  peaceful  sway  over  a 
happy  republic.  Should  our  children  come  once 
a  year  to  the  study  of  this  birthday,  there  would 
be  at  the  end  of  a  long  life  fields  of  direct  or 
cognate  truth  over  which  their  traveled  feet 
had  not  yet  passed.  After  the  childhood  of 
Washington  had  been  reviewed  there  would 
come  the  school-book  scenes.  Washington  and 
his  mother  would  be  a  theme.  Washington  and 
the  army,  Washington  and  England,  Washing- 
ton and  France,  Washington  and  victory,  Wash- 
ington and  religion  would  be  mighty  subjects 
for  reflection  of  our  youth  or  old  age.  Sad 
thought  that  we  shall  all  die  without  having 
seen  in  all  lights  our  nation  or  those  who  laid 
its  foundations! 

Each  age  is  always  busy  making  men  out  of 
the  material  it  may  have  on  hand.  The  child 
must  possess  all  these  mental  powers  which  can 
be  taught  and  expressed.     Given  natural  genius 


92 

and  sensibility,  the  age  then  shapes  the  drift  of 
all  powers  and  gives  color  to  thoughts  and 
emotions.  That  must  be  by  nature  an  extraor- 
dinary mind  that  can  catch  all  the  good  of  a 
])eriod  and  can  reject  all  its  evil.  As  to  a  devotion 
to  liberty  and  the  power  to  express  all  the  argu- 
ments in  behalf  of  a  republic,  Thomas  Paine 
equaled  George  Washington;  but  in  picking  up 
the  qualities  of  the  age  Mr.  Paine  seized  upon 
too  much  evil  and  omitted  too  much  good.  We 
must  always  be  thankful  to  Thomas  Paine  for 
the  great  help  he  rendered  the  infant  nation;  but 
we  can  now  see  that  he  did  not  become  a  full 
utterance  of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  could 
not  hold  his  own  mind  in  a  beautiful  equipoise. 
He  could  not  treat  with  respect  men  of  all  shades 
of  religious  opinion.  He  was  restless,  aimless, 
intemperate,  more  like  the  wild  Rousseau  of 
France  than  like  the  symmetrical  man  of  Mt. 
Vernon.  It  was  not  to  the  injury  of  Mr.  Paine 
that  he  was  not  orthodox  in  Christianity,  for  his 
deism  abounded  and  took  in  many  of  those  who 
were  greatest  in  that  day.  He  absorbed  too 
many  frailties  and  omitted  too  many  of  the  great 
attributes  of  mankind. 


93 

When,  long  ago,  the  ax-men  went  into  the 
woods  to  find  among  the  trees  one  suitable  to  be 
shajDed  into  a  mast  for  a  large  clipper  ship,  thou- 
sands of  trees  had  to  be  passed  by  with  only  a 
glance.  One  tree  had  been  twisted  by  the  wind ; 
one  had  been  creased  by  the  lightning;  one  had, 
when  young,  been  bent  down  by  some  playing 
bears;  one  had  been  too  near  to  its  neighbors, 
and  had  been  dwarfed  in  the  top;  one  had  been 
too  near  a  stream,  and  had  had  too  much  sun  and 
air  on  the  side  next  the  water,  its  trunk  had  bent 
toward  its  greatest  limb ;  one  had  in  youth  been 
scorched  by  the  fire  of  a  hunter.  At  last  a  tree 
is  found  from  which  all  defects  are  wanting,  and 
up,  straight  as  a  draftsman's  rule,  runs  the  wooden 
shaft  for  a  hundred  feet.  The  woodsmen  all  re- 
joice, for  the  mast  is  found.  The  tree  is  elected 
from  amid  its  fellows,  and  soon,  instead  of  wear- 
ing its  verdure  in  the  forest,  it  goes  careening  on 
the  ocean,  holding  up  white  sails  to  the  journey- 
ing wind.  Not  otherwise  when  some  weak  col- 
onies need  a  chieftain  for  war  and  peace ;  they 
must  pass  by  many  a  name  great  in  fame  before 
they  find  the  citizen  who  holds  all  the  virtues 
they   know  and    love.     No    one  dare   say   that 


94 

Washington  was  the  only  man  who  could  have 
jDerf  ormed  the  needed  task.  There  may  have  been 
one  other  or  many  others  who  could  have  led  the 
people  to  independence.  The  one  man  having 
been  found,  the  people  did  not  pursue  longer  the 
search.  Such  a  search  would  be  a  foolish  task 
for  an  historian.  Having  found  the  mast,  the  ax- 
men  left  the  woods. 

There  are  few  scenes  more  attractive  than  the 
picture  of  a  new  age  making  new  men.  The 
eighteenth  century  was  a  new  era.  Its  new  life 
did  not  take  the  direction  of  railways  and  tel- 
egraphs, or  of  physical  implements  and  machines; 
rather  did  it  make  a  study  of  new  principles  in 
politics  and  religion.  It  was  a  logical  storm,  and 
the  storm  centers  were  monarchy  and  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  England  and  France  were 
storm- swept  districts,  England  studying  politics 
and  deism,  France  studying  both  politics  and  re- 
ligion. The  thirteen  colonies  were  upon  the  bor- 
der of  the  disturbance,  and,  while  men  like  Burke 
and  Pitt  intlamed  their  love  of  liberty,  Boling- 
broke,  Hume,  Gibbon  and  Voltaire  undermined 
the  Roman  Church,  and,  under  deism  and  repub- 
licanism, monarchy  fell  in  France  and  freedom 
arose  on  both  sides  of  the  sea. 


95 

Hume's  life-long  home  was  Edinburgh.  Thus 
the  attack  upon  orthodoxy  reached  from  Edin- 
burgh to  Paris,  and  was  violent  for  nearly  a 
hundred  years.  The  political  churches  in  Eng- 
land and  Scotland  were  almost  as  deeply  hated  as 
the  one  in  France,  and  at  the  close  of  the  cen- 
tury there  were  few  statesmen  that  paid  any  great 
deference  to  any  orthodox  form  of  Christianity. 
Deism  and   republicanism  traveled  together. 

This  was  not  a  logical  necessity;  it  followed 
from  the  fact  that  in  both  France  and  England 
the  church  and  despotism  had  long  been  full 
partners.  To  fight  against  the  miraculous  claims 
of  the  church  was  to  make  a  path  for  freedom. 
The  history  of  the  Church  of  England  was  the 
history  of  all  forms  of  wrong;  the  Scotch  Church 
had  been  less  cruel  because  it  had  been  less  pow- 
erful; the  Puritans  in  New  England  had  shown 
terrific  violence; the  Eoman  Church  had  surpassed 
all  because  it  had  reached  over  more  millions 
and  over  more  centuries,  and  thus  had  trampled 
upon  humanity  with  a  malignant  cruelty  which 
now  surpasses  all  modern  powers  of  belief. 
Statesmen  created  in  such  a  period  had  to  become 
cold  to  orthodoxy  when  they  became   ardent  for 


96 

liberty ;  and  we  can  not  wonder  that  when  at  last 
they  drafted  the  fundamental  law  of  the  land 
they  left  all  religion  wholly  outside  of  the  con- 
stitution. Many  of  these  framers  of  law  carried 
in  their  hearts  a  simple  Christianity,  but  they  had 
seen  enough  of  the  union  of  church  and  state. 
They  were  men  of  a  new  era. 

Society  is  not  merely  an  eating,  drinking,  feast- 
ing throng— not  merely  a  student,  a  worker,  but 
it  is  also  an  assemblage  of  ideas.  It  is  a  common 
storehouse,  to  which  the  past  wills  its  thought 
and  to  which  the  present  adds  its  accretions. 
But  society  is  made  up  of  men  and  women. 
These  persons,  then,  are  the  final  massing  of  truth, 
and  when  we  examine  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century  we  find  each  being  who  was  sensitive 
and  who  moved  about  in  his  time,  laden  with  all 
the  wisdom  which  lay  exhumed  between  his  birth 
and  death. 

Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  Voltaire,  Boling- 
t  broke,  Hume,  Pitt,  Burke,  Franklin,  Washing- 
ton, Lafayette,  Jefferson,  Paine  and  Hamilton 
moved  along  in  a  wonderful  unity  of  belief,  both 
political  and  religious,  each  one  wearing  some 
little  beauty  or  deformity  of  disposition,  but  all 


97 

marked  by  one  religious  rationalism  and  one  love 
of  a  republic.  They  all  had  come  up  out  of  the 
destruction  of  a  great  past  and  were  all  carrying 
the  weapons  which  had  driven  the  church  from 
crime  and  vice  to  virtue,  and  had  driven  kings  to 
a  hasty  but  deep  study  of  human  rights.  It  is  a 
beautiful  sight  to  see  all  those  great  foreheads 
and  mark  them  grow  radiant  in  the  increasing 
day  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  kind  hearts  now  living  recall  with  regret 
that  George  Washington  owned  and  used  slaves. 
That  fact  can  not  be  justified,  but  it  can  be  par- 
tially explained.  Sympathy  with  black  slaves 
had  not  yet  come  in  the  days  of  our  great  chief- 
tain. All  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  despotic 
church  and  the  despotic  throne.  The  eighteenth 
was  the  white  man's  century.  White  men  had 
been  worked,  whipped,  burned,  murdered,  exiled, 
tortured  for  many  generations.  On  one  occasion 
sixty  thousand  men  and  women  had  been  murdered 
in  a  single  night.  All  the  pages  of  history  were  red 
with  innocent  blood.  France  was  on  the  eve  of 
the  greatest  revolution  of  all  times,  and  the  thir- 
teen colonies  were  about  to  rebel  against  the  most 
powerful  kingdom  on  earth. 


98 

We  must  not  rudely  demand  that  the  Wash- 
ingtons  thus  watching  the  European  sky  should 
feel  the  wrongs  of  the  negroes  in  Georgia  or  Vir- 
ginia. The  mind  has  always  assailed  evils  one  at 
a  time.  Washington  all  through  his  manhood 
carried  enough  of  care  and  even  acute  pain.  It 
was  no  light  thing  to  sunder  the  ties  which  bound 
him  to  the  mother  country.  His  ancestors  were 
over  the  sea.  English  rule  had  honored  him.  To 
rebel  against  country  and  church  and  help  win 
and  secure  independence  were  subjects  enough  to 
till  up  a  mind  and  heart  for  a  score  of  years. 

When  the  great  leader  did  touch  upon  African 
slavery, his  words  were  in  harmony  with  the  great 
emancipation  which  came  in  the  next  period. 
The  men  around  Washington  did  not  reach  the 
rights  of  women,  because,  noble  as  those  men 
were,  they  could  not  be  infinite.  It  seems  enough 
that  they  created  the  greatest  of  all  republics. 
They  reaped  the  peculiar  harvest  of  their  pe- 
riod, and  stored  its  yellow  sheaves.  Other  ideas 
must  wait  for  some  other  day  to  come. 

The  "other  idea"  did  not  delay  long  its 
coming.  When  the  thrilling  events  in  France, 
England  and  the  colonies  had  become  the  prop- 


99 

eity  of  history,  and  all  the  men  who  made  them 
had  fallen  into  their  graves,  then  in  the  nineteenth 
century  came  slowly  the  wave  of  a  new  senti- 
ment. Earl)-  in  the  new  era  the  Breckinridge 
family  in  Kentucky  began  to  advocate  the  re- 
moval of  the  negroes  to  Africa.  The  coloniza- 
tion  scheme  was  the  first  form  of  this  sympathy. 
At  times  some  master  would  break  over  all 
barriers,  and  remove  all  his  slaves  north  and 
set  them  free.  Many  a  group  of  slaves  found 
themselves  moving  toward  liberty,  their  master 
leading  them  towards  the  promised  land.  Abo- 
litionism as  an  idea,  as  a  political  truth,  and  as  an 
evident  form  of  humanity,  followed  the  coloniza- 
tion, and  had  all  its  orators  in  all  the  border 
slave  States  before  the  North  had  burst  out  into 
a  flame.  Memory  can  easily  recall  Cassius  M. 
Clay  and  John  G.  Fee,  who  made  the  interior  of 
Kentucky  hear,  from  first  to  last,  the  pathetic 
story  of  the  slave.  Kentucky  women  shed  tears 
over  slavery  before  you  were  born. 

As  the  years  came  the  number  of  orators 
and  essayists  increased,  and  sermons,  orations, 
novels,  stories  and  poems  began  to  fall  like 
autumn  leaves,  only  not  in  the  world's  autumn, 


100 

but  in  its  spring.  In  1S33  England  set  free  all 
her  slaves;  and  by  1838  the  song  sung  too  soon 
by  Cowper  had  become  true  in  all  the  wide  em- 
pire over  which  the  girl-queen  Victoria  had  just 
begun  her  sway.  That  noble  girl  of  nineteen 
years,  just  crowned,  might  have  chanted  the 
words  of  Cowper,  then  just  fulfilled: 

"  Slaves  can  not  live  in  England;  if  their  lungs 
But  breathe  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free; 
They  touch  our  country  and  their  shackles  fall." 

If  the  eighteenth  was  the  white  man's  cen- 
tury, the  nineteenth  was  the  century  of  mankind. 
Within  its  richer  years  a  wider  justice  and  a 
greater  kindness  were  to  come,  and  no  color  or 
sex,  or  youth  or  age,  or  wealth  or  poverty,  were 
to  affect  the  play  of  human  rights.  From  1820 
to  1860  there  was  but  one  eloquence  for  the 
nation,  and  but  one  great  song — the  one  theme  was 
the  release  of  the  slave.  There  was  no  elo- 
quence or  song  against  the  black  man,  for  he  who 
opposed  liberty  could  not  be  eloquent,  and  the 
song  which  would  uphold  shackles  could  not  be 
sung.  An  argument  runs  rapidly  when  it  has 
but  one  side. 


101 

But  who  was  present  in  those  years  when  the 
young  Queen  Victoria  was  looking  over  a  mighty 
empire  which  held  no  slave?  What  sensitive 
mind  was  studying  and  feeling  all  truths  and 
sentiments  in  those  days  when  the  songs  of  free- 
dom were  rolling  over  this  republic  as  rolls  the 
melody  of  the  song  birds  of  spring?  Who  was 
living  his  early  thoughtful  years  when  all  the  great 
principles  taught  by  Washington  and  Jefferson 
were  blossoming  into  sentiment  and  filling  the 
whole  air  with  a  new  perfume?  The  Lincoln 
child  was  born  in  February,  1809,  and  thus  all  that 
life  lay  in  those  years  which  had  dismissed  France 
and  Voltaire,  Thomas  Paine  and  the  Church, 
England  and  Europe,  that  the  American  public 
might  see  in  all  its  details  the  cloud  of  negro 
bondage.  Goino;  to  New  Orleans  with  his  flat- 
boat  the  young  Lincoln  saw  the  slave  auction 
where  mother  and  son  were  parted,  and  where  a 
fair  woman  was  sold  like  a  dumb  animal.  His 
heart  made  a  vow. 

Thus  each  age  creates  a  form  of  manhood,  and, 
as  a  group  of  noble  men  came  up  out  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  so  another  group  was  cre- 
ated in  the  nineteenth;  the  former  were  mighty 


102 

in  their  battle  for  the  white  man,  the  latter, 
mighty  in  their  battle  for  the  race.  O  thou  brief 
month  in  midwinter!  For  all  thy  days  of  phy- 
sical sorrow,  days  of  suffering  poor,  of  dark 
storm  and  drifting  snow,  Nature  has  given  thee 
compensation  in  thy  perpetual  nearness  to  two 
names,  the  greatest  in  human  history  !  Thon 
dost  not  need  leaves  and  blossoms  for  thy  joy, 
for  when  thou  wouldst  think  of  things  beauti- 
ful thou  canst  point  to  two  men  who  are  the 
eternal  decorations  of  our  fatherland ! 

That  was  a  singular  association  of  names  made 
recently  by  Mr.  Ingersoll.  He  linked  together  in 
greatness  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Charles  Darwin. 
Never  before  did  that  orator  utter  such  a  strange 
sentiment  unless  it  was  when  he  said  that  Dante 
and  Milton  were  not  poets.  Charles  Darwin  de- 
duced all  animals  from  a  primitive  cell,  and  offers 
us  a  theory  not  valuable  but  curious.  His  teach- 
ings sustain  no  relations  to  church  or  state.  They 
are  so  unimportant  that  few  care  whether  they 
are  true  or  false.  So  a  naturalist  discovered 
that  the  swallow  spends  its  winter  in  the  bottom 
of  marshes  and  ponds.  But  he  and  Darwin  can 
never  be  named  alonii"  with  the  men  who   have 


103 

made  a  free  nation  for  many  millions,  and  who 
are  sweetening  the  hearts  and  intellects  of  mill- 
ions of  young  men  who  are  living  their  awakened 
life  under  freedom's  flag.     Darwin  and  the  oys- 
ter!    Lincoln  and  justice!     The  chief  theme  of 
these  remarks  is  not  Washington  and  Lincoln,  hut 
rather  the  spectacle  of  an  age  creating  its  master 
intellects.      Each   period   loads  its  clouds  until 
they  move  in   a  storm;  it  nourishes  its  blossom- 
buds  until  they  burst.     March,  April,  and  May 
carry  water  and  air  and  sunshine  to  the  plant, 
until  at  last  the  passing  school-girl  shouts  with 
joy,  for  the  plant  has  bloomed.     Later  on  the  farm  - 
er  lifts  his  eyes  and  says :     My  wheat  has  come ! 
Thus  we  gaze  at  the  ministry  of  the  years  and 
see  the  mind  of  the  public  yielding  to  the  mighty 
powers  of  the  air.     When  the  school-girl  plucks 
the   wild -flower   she  is  not  a  part  of  its  cause. 
Nature  would  have  made  it  had  she  never  passed 
along  that  path;  but  when  an  age  makes  oreat 
characters,   all   youth,  all  girlhood,   all  woman- 
hood, all  manhood,  are  melted  to  compose  the  new 
compound  of  greatness.      Washington    was  the 
utterance  of  many  millions  of  souls.    Each  woman 
who  is  thinking  and  acting  nobly,  each  man  who 


104 

is  discarding  all  the  vices  and  exalting  all  the 
virtues,  is  helping  compose  the  omnipotence  of  his 
century.  One  noble  man  utters  us  all.  He  is 
the  speaker  of  the  age. 

The  present  Pope  is  perhaps  the  most  wise  and 
tolerant  of  all  who  have  ever  held  the  highest 
office  of  the  Roman  Church.  Like  Mr.  Lincoln, 
he  had  to  garner  up  the  lessons  of  his  time.  Born 
in  1810,  this  Catholic  lad,  acute,  sensitive,  and 
moral,  had  to  see  all  the  followers  and  all  the 
theories  of  myriads  of  Voltaires;  his  ears  had  to 
catch  all  that  rationalism  which  issued  from  the 
French  Revolution;  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
political  tumult  which  reached  out  twenty  years 
from  Mazzini  of  1840  to  Garibaldi  of  1800;  he  saw 
the  revolution  of  1848;  he  lived  on  to  see  Victor 
Emanuel  separate  the  old  church  from  Italy ;  he 
saw  stones  and  mud  ilung  at  the  funeral  cortege 
of  Pius  IX;  he  heard  shouts  of  laughter  rise 
above  the  solemn  dirges  chanted  by  the  priests; 
he  had  long  heard  the  eloquence  of  Cavour  and 
Castelar,  and  had  felt  the  breeze  of  liberty  blow- 
ing from  France,  America,  and  England,  and  his 
heart  must  follow  the  law  of  nature  and  take  the 
color   of  the  adjacent  world.     His  proud  spirit 


105 

can  not  make  a  full  surrender.  It  hates  the  new- 
breadth  of  religion,  but  it  flings  out  to  .science 
and  to  new  customs  many  a  kind  word. 

A  new  century  leaves  us  children  little  option. 
Its  arms  are  strong;  if  we  will  not  walk  forward 
it  carries  us.  Pope  and  king  and  queen,  student, 
toiler,  man,  woman,  all  are  carried  by  the  tide  of 
years.  Of  which  subliine  movement  the  explana- 
tion is  that  God  is  dwelling  among  His  children. 
The  Pope,  Leo  XIII,  shrinks  from  the  world-wide 
friendship  demanded  among  the  disciples  of  piety, 
but  the  touch  of  that  friendship  has  fallen  upon 
his  heart  and  will  fall  there  while  he  shall  live, 
not  only  in  a  new  Italy,  but  in  the  world's  new 
civilization. 

In  its  power  to  make  men,  society  can  not  go 
back  and  make  again  the  shape  of  intellect  it 
once  fashioned  for  the  public  use.  Neither  the 
Romanisin  nor  the  Calvinism  of  the  past  can  ever 
come  back.  Nothing  that  divides  humanity  into 
parcels,  and  which  makes  one  group  kill  another 
group  by  God's  altar  can  ever  return.  Exclusive- 
ness  has  died;  inclusiveness  has  come.  The  little 
Romanism,  the  little  orthodox}'  has  been  suc- 
ceeded by  humanity.     An  acorn  may  turn  into 


106 

an  oak,  but  the  oak  can  never  go  back  into  the 
acorn. 

Naturalists  and  poets  used  to  ask  us  to  note 
that  the  evening  clouds  never  repeated  their  mar- 
shaling and  colorings  in  the  west.  The  winds, 
the  vapors,  the  temperature,  the  atmosphere,  the 
sunshine  can  not  all  meet  twice  in  one  power,  one 
bulk,  and  one  quality.  Thus  the  elements  which 
made  the  old  church  and  the  great  men  of  the 
j>ast  can  never  meet  again  in  Italy,  or  France,  or 
America.  But  the  moral  scene  excels  that  of  the 
sunset  clouds,  for  the  moral  changes  are  all  made 
in  more  and  more  of  beauty.  Old  Romanism  and 
old  orthodoxy  must  die  to  make  way  for  some 
more  divine  assembling  of  religion's  beauty  on 
the  morning  and  evening  sky. 

When  one  thinks  of  society  as  shaping  a  sensi- 
tive soul,  one  can  not  but  pass  from  Leo  XIII  and 
Washington,  and  Lincoln,  to  him  whom  Pales- 
tine cradled  and  reared  and  crucified.  Accord- 
ing to  the  sacred  biography  he  grew  as  a  human 
youth  grows,  but  he  surpasses  all  the  names  in 
history,  because  he  drank  in  the  highest  truth  of 
all  times  and  all  races.  He  was  more  universal 
and  perpetual  than  the  great  moderns  whom  we 


1()7 


love.     His  laws  were  for  the  great  kingdom  of 
which  Italy  and  America  are  only  small  states. 
Washington  and  Lincoln  absorbed  and  expressed 
man's  love  of  rights  and  liberty,  but  the  greater 
one  of  Palestine,  after  expressing  the  most  sweep- 
ing and  delicate  justice,  uttered  the  world's  feel- 
ings of  piety  and  its  hopes  of  a  second  life.     To 
the  nations  of  man  He  added  that  vast  Father- 
land to  which  all  earthly  greatness  moves  with 
solemn  steps.     To    him  all  the  great  statesmen 
and  philanthropists  look.     He  is  the  universal 
ideal  and  guide.     These  great  names  of  February 
are  the  children  of  one  continent,  the  leaders  of 
one  people,  but  the  Nazarene  surpasses  them,  for 
he  leads  all  the  multitudes  of  many  periods,  and 
was  not  the  son  of  a  nation,  a  state,  but  the  Son 
of  Man. 


Gbinss  anfc  fIDen. 

What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  to  see?    A  reed  shaken 
of  the  wind?    A  man  clothed  in  soft  raiment? — Matthew  xi.  8. 

The  Columbian  Fair  began  in  the  contem- 
plation of  physical  things.  The  growth  of  man- 
ufacture, art,  and  science  had  for  a  century  been 
so  prodigious  in  quantity  and  quality  that  it 
seemed  best  to  sum  up  all  the  fairs  of  counties 
and  states  and  nations  in  some  display  for  the 
world.  The  people  of  this  continent,  as  often  as 
they  contemplated  the  many  shapes  of  its  arts, 
inventions  and  products,  felt  disposed  to  thank 
Columbus  for  having  been  so  kind  as  to  discover 
such  a  valuable  piece  of  idle  ground.  By  slow 
degrees  this  gratitude  to  Columbus  spread,  and 
instead  of  saying  as  is  customary,  "  Let  us  build 
a  statue  of  that  navigator,"  it  said:  "Let  us  hold 
a  gigantic  fair  in  his  memory."  This  was  the 
sentiment  which  at  last  prevailed,  and  each  day 
that  now  passes  brings  us  nearer  the  opening  of 
the  gates  and  doors  of  that  unusual  exhibition. 
The  present  year  itself  is,  in  this  continent  at 
least,  to  be  made  memorable  by  the  event.     Our 


109 

century  has  seen  many  great  years,  and  this  one, 
differing  from  all  in  its  color  and  essence,  will 
take  its  place  in  the  group  of  those  destined  to 
be  historic.  It  will  not  be  associated  with  any 
fields  of  battle,  nor  with  the  sad  questions  of  dis- 
union, and  slavery;  it  will  stand  forth  gay  and 
brilliant,  but  valuable  and  impressive. 

The  conception  of  the  work  was  large  in  the 
outset,  but  not  many  months  of  public  discussion 
had  passed  by  before  all  first  thoughts  became 
inadequate,  and  grounds,  buildings,  contents, 
beauty  and  cost  doubled  the  size  in  which  they 
were  first  seen.  Like  the  Fama  of  Virgil,  they 
gained  forces  by  going.     "  Viresque  acquirit  eundoT 

In  the  very  outset  all  was  materialistic,  but 
the  country  had  not  thought  long  before  it  be- 
gan to  say,  "Let  us  have  not  only  material  things, 
but  let  us  have  also  spiritual  things.  The  age  is 
not  wholly  composed  of  inventions  and  discov- 
eries, of  pictures,  statues,  architecture,  railways 
and  electric  lights  and  powers;  it  is  composed  in 
part  of  mental  phenomena.  Let  us  add  these 
things  to  the  Columbian  memory.'1  This  idea  ran 
swiftly,  and  now  when  the  year  is  just  opening 


110 

we  see  a  picture  never  offered  the  world  before 
— a  fair  to  be  held  in  the  name  of  both  dust  and 
spirit.  If  a  flower  or  a  tree  or  a  ship  or  a  car 
is  organized  dust,  then  education,  politics,  social 
philosophy  and  religion  are  organized  soul.  We 
may  well  all  rejoice  that  jewels  and  machines 
and  robes  of  silk  and  velvet  are  to  be  here  next 
summer,  but  we  may  also  be  glad  that  the  hu- 
man soul  is  to  be  here — here  in  its  science,  its 
ethics,  its  eloquence,  its  education,  its  religion 
and  philanthropy.  All  the  material  things  will 
indeed  be  the  work  of  the  human  mind.  The 
steam  engine,  with  its  self-acting  valves  and  with 
its  enormous  power,  is  only  a  form  assumed  by 
man's  thought.  Recently,  when  a  ship-load  of 
people  found  that  in  mid-ocean  the  shaft  of  the 
ship's  great  wheel  had  become  shattered,  they 
must  have  felt  like  children  who  had  lost  a 
father  or  a  kind  guardian.  Out  in  the  ocean  in  a 
floating  palace!  but  in  the  palace  lay  this  dead 
giant  whose  power,  ten  thousand  times  greater  than 
that  of  Hercules,  had  been  day  and  night  on  their 
side.  Thus  all  instruments  and  machines  are  in-. 
carnations  of  man's  mind;  but,  after  these  have 
all  been  seen  and  studied,  there  is  much  of  mind 


Ill 

left,  and  man  out  of  his  machines  is  greater  than 
man  in  them.  Our  age  can  construct  a  marvel- 
ous  steam -engine  of  which  Watt  little  dreamed, 
but  the  instrument  would  be  of  little  value  had 
not  man  possessed  great  errands  over  land  and 
sea.  The  rail-car  is  great  in  itself,  but  it  is  often 
made  greater  by  the  souls  of  the  travelers.  Men 
going  upon  great  errands  of  mercy  or  justice  or 
goodness  confer  honor  upon  the  ship  that  bears 
them  from  shore  to  shore.  When  Franklin 
stepped  upon  the  shores  of  France;  when  Lafay- 
ette stepped  upon  the  shores  of  America,  each 
man  would  have  been  greater  than  his  ship  had 
its  hull  been  made  of  plates  of  pure  gold.  Thus, 
after  the  mind  has  invented  and  made  all  the 
buildings  and  the  objects  that  shall  be  within 
the  buildings,  it  will  still  contain  within  itself  a 
great  residue  of  beauty  and  power. 

One  of  the  blessings  of  the  year  ought  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  such  a  congress  of  nations 
ought  to  lead  all  minds  to  think  the  world's 
thoughts — thoughts  good  for  the  world  and  for 
all  time.  If  literary  men  from  all  lands  shall 
meet  here,  they  ought  to  unite  in  demanding  a 
universal  purity  of  style  and  in  making  a  cov- 


112 

enant  to  deal  only  in  the  most  high  and  noble  of 
truths.  They  should  band  together  to  make 
greater  and  greater  the  most  powerful  agent  at 
work  among  men.  All  the  arts  are  dwarfed 
by  the  power  of  literature.  Each  other  art  can 
express  only  some  part  of  the  mind— music  a 
part,  architecture  a  part,  painting  a  part;  but 
literature  can  express  all  the  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions of  the  entire  spirit.  And  this  art  one  can 
carry  with  him  when  he  travels,  it  can  flourish 
in  one  little  room,  it  depends  not  upon  wealth 
or  house  or  gallery,  but  where  the  mind  has  a 
common  education,  there  this  art  can  find  its 
home.  A  poor  girl's  heart  may  be  the  gallery 
of  this  form  of  excellence.  In  one  hand  she 
may  hold  a  volume  which  may  contain  more 
truth  and  beauty  than  can  be  found  in  any  col- 
lection of  art. 

If  she  may  hold  only  some  of  the  immortal 
books  of  the  world,  she  has  near  her  heart  some- 
thing greater  than  all  the  canvases  in  the  magnif- 
icent rooms  of  the  Louvre.  These  books  travel 
like  wind  and  light.  They  do  not  wait  for  the 
poor  boy  to  grow  rich  that  he  may  make  a  long 
journey  to  them.     They  pity  his  poverty  and  go 


113 

to  him.  A  few  books  went  to  the  Lincoln  lad 
in  Kentucky  and  Indiana;  a  few  volumes  went 
to  the  young  Henry  Clay,  a  few  to  our  Washing- 
ton when  lie  was  a  lad;  but  when  these  books, 
went  they  carried  the  soul  of  the  world,  for  lit- 
erature means  the  mind  and  heart  of  our  race. 
Humanity  thinks  all  the  time.  Thoughts  are  as. 
countless  as  the  grains  of  sand  upon  the  shores 
of  all  oceans;  but  as,  of  those  sands,  only  some 
of  the  grains  are  gold  or  sapphire  or  pearl,  so 
of  all  the  thoughts  of  all  time,  only  a  part  are 
rich  in  value  and  beauty.  Literature  is  the  final 
collection  of  these  scattering  jewels.  Whether 
gathered  by  Plato  or  Cicero,  or  by  the  Man  of 
Nazareth,  or  by  John  Milton,  they  stand  for  all 
that  is  great  and  good  in  mankind.  It  is  one  of 
the  greatest  attributes  of  our  earth  that  it  scat- 
ters its  greatest  works  with  the  most  generous 
hand,  and  enters  the  door  of  the  cabin  and  offers 
to  the  boy  without  coat  or  shoes  the  use  and  joy 
of  the  highest  of  all  the  arts. 

In  the  presence  of  such  a  full,  powerful  and 
wide-spread  influence  how  can  we  avoid  wishing 
that  our  coming  congresses  of  scholars  and  stu- 
dents may  vow  to  make  literature  cut  loose  fr<  in 


1  14 

vulgarity  once  and  forever?  What  the  students 
of  the  world  did  in  the  recent  exposition  in  Paris 
has  had  a  marked  effect,  for  it  is  now  confessed 
that  France  is  rapidly  moving  toward  a  literature 
which  appeals  to  only  the  highest  taste  of  the 
enlightened  world.  It  ought  to  be  easy  for  our 
literary  congress  to  lend  a  new  impulse  to  a  char- 
iot which  is  already  in  motion. 

The  reform  of  literature  would  imply  a  reform 
of  the  drama,  for  when  the  public  learns  to  love 
one  pure  art  it  will  ask  that  all  kindred  manifes- 
tations of  the  intellect  shall  be  high  in  their 
style.  The  low  drama,  for  many  of  the  dramas 
are  still  disgraceful  to  all  concerned,  will  never 
lack  for  friends  in  a  nation  which  could  praise  a 
poet  whose  vulgarity  was  simply  infinite.  We 
must  appeal  to  the  congress  of  nations  to  aid  us 
in  the  suppression  of  immoral  books  and  in 
building  up  a  new  world  of  letters  into  which 
slang  and  vulgarity  can  not  enter.  The  gates  of 
literature  should  be,  like  those  of  heaven,  made 
of  pearl.  The  world  from  Germany  to  America 
is  growing  ready  for  such  reform.  May  all  the 
scholars  and  students  who  ever  assemble  vow  to 
magnify  literature — that  art  of  all  arts! 


115 

Our  fathers  in  the  church  erred  by  their  efforts 
to  expel  the  drama  and  opera  from  the  face  of 
the  earth.  The  tendency  of  their  practice  was 
to  make  the  world  a  desert.  They  were  deep  and 
wide  in  their  hates.  The  fiddle  itself  came  in  for 
a  large  share  of  their  displeasure.  Nearly  all 
games  were  suspected  of  wickedness.  Assuming 
that  the  earth  had  ]>een  cursed  by  Adam,  they 
were  inclined  to  think  that  all  the  earth  produced 
was  full  of  depravity.  Of  course,  the  drama 
and  opera,  and  the  fiddle  and  the  dance,  were 
wicked,  for  otherwise  the  earth  would  not  have 
produced  them.  All  good  came  through  the 
church;  the  earth  was  the  kingdom  of  Satan. 
Such  teachings  were  equivalent  to  a  robbery,  for 
thus  was  society  to  be  robbed  of  many  and  beau- 
tiful goods.  The  old  theory  of  total  depravity 
has  failed.  The  depravity  was  at  least  total  in 
its  failure.  It  remains  now  to  assume  that  the 
earth  is  prolific  in  goodness  and  beauty,  and  that 
this  beauty  must  be  separated  from  deformity, 
just  as  literature  must  be  rescued  from  the  slums 
and  the  gutter.  We  do  not  wish  to  mow  down 
the  wide  expanse  of  flowers  under  the  pretense 
that  they  are  weeds.     The  church  said  they  are 


116 

all  weeds  and  nettles.  We  have  lived  to  know 
better.  Our  world  is  a  rich  valley,  made  by  the 
Almighty  to  yield  flowers,  and  we  must  help  the 
Creator  in  his  wish  that  the  plant  should  blossom 
and  the  birds  sing. 

There  is  one  "hobby"  which  no  age  has  yet 
ridden.  The  Greeks  and  Latins  rode  upon 
Pegasus,  others  rode  upon  the  war-horse,  the 
church  made  a  hobby  of  its  creed,  many  different 
times  have  mounted  many  different  things ;  but 
there  is  one  idea  to  which  society  has  never  yet 
given  its  hand  and  heart,  and  that  "hobby"  is  a 
beautiful  decency.  When  language  came  to  us 
from  the  sky,  we  were  not  satisfied  till  we  had  it 
filled  with  oaths  and  gibberish  and  slang;  when 
art  came, society  said, "Let  us  make  it  indelicate;" 
when  literature  came,  great  minds  said,  "Let  us 
write  its  pages  that  all  who  read  will  blush  for 
shame;"  when  the  drama  offered  us  the  sublime 
pictures  of  human  life, the  play-makers  said,  "  Let 
us  make  our  plays  and  scenes  infamous;"  when 
the  drama  came  in  the  name  of  the  greatest  song, 
then  our  leaders  again  said,  "Let  us  invent  an 
absurd  and  silly  ballet  and  hang  it  like  a  hun- 
dred mill-stones  on  the  neck  of  a  divine  music." 


117 

Thus  our  world  has  never  made  a  hobby  of  honor 
in  literature  or  art.  But  we  may  be  on  the  eve 
of  a  great  change.  We  may  infer  from  the  unrest 
of  civilization  that  it  has  grown  weary  of  the 
past.  It  has  become  convinced  that  the  world 
was  made  for  greatness,  beauty, and  goodness. 

In  the  moral  department  of  the  World's  Fair 
the  officers  have  invented  the  motto,  "Not  Things, 
but  Men.'1  This  motto  must  have  reference  only 
to  a  division  of  labor-that  some  days  will  show  us 
things,  other  days  will  show  ns  men.  The  motto 
for  the  whole  exposition  may  well  be  "  Things 
and  Men;"  for  we  love  to  think  of  things  as  the 
products  of  man's  genius  and  the  servants  of  his 
wants.  Nearly  all  things  are  the  expression  of 
man's  power.  The  steamship  is  only  a  form 
assumed  by  Watt  and  Fulton.  When  the  tele- 
graph speaks  to  us,  it  is  Morse  that  speaks.  Thus, 
things  are  men.  Now  the  argument  is  this — that 
if  man  can  pour  his  power  into  a  steamship  which 
will  carry  a  thousand  persons  over  an  ocean,  so 
this  man,  this  thinker,  this  creator,  can  pour  a 
similar  power  into  religion,  or  politics,  or  art,  or 
life,  and  make  them  all  the  most  faithful  servants 
of  the  race.     Can  not  the  congresses  of  men  help 


118 

lift  up  a  suffering  world?  If  the  genius  of  man 
can  make  things,  can  it  not  make  men  ?  Sad  day 
for  us  if  we  can  build  a  beautiful  house  for  men 
to  live  in,  but  can  not  fabricate  a  noble  man! 
Shall  we  tear  down  the  house  ?  Oh,  no !  Let  us 
rebuild  the  occupant.  The  genius  that  fabricates 
an  exposition  can  fabricate  a  society. 

It  is  confessed  now  that  the  architectural  scene 
on  the  fair  grounds  is  perhaps  the  greatest  the 
world  has  ever  seen.  We  can  not  go  back  to 
Babylon  to  see  how  it  looked  in  the  day  of  its 
hanging  gardens,  nor  to  Carthage  to  mark  its 
wonders  in  the  time  of  Hannibal,  but,  compared 
with  all  existing  emblems  of  the  builder's  art, 
this  new  picture  is  most  impressive.  It  was  cre- 
ated not  by  one  city,  but  by  the  whole  age,  for 
ideas  are  there  from  the  Greek,  the  Roman,  the 
Gothic, and  the  Oriental  lands.  In  that  piece  of 
ground  the  great  builders,  dead  and  living,  all 
meet.  Rome  is  there  with  her  arches,  Greece 
with  her  columus.  But  the  inquiry  which  that 
enchanted  held  raises  is  this:  Can  not  such  an 
age  build  a  wide  and  pure  civilization?  Can  not 
our  times  build  up  a  richer  spiritual  realm  ?  Can 
not  the  assembled  men  bear  witness  against  the 


119 

disgraceful  passion  of  war?  Can  they  not  make 
reason  and  justice  seem  grander  than  battlefields  ? 
Can  they  not  cover  with  perpetual  infamy  the  day 
when  one  Frenchman  and  one  German  exulted  in 
the  slaughter  of  half  a  million  of  their  brothers  { 
Can  not  the  congress  of  moralists  utter  against  the 
drinking  habit  some  word  which  will  encircle  the 
world  ? 

Shall  such  congresses  of  men  leave  to  women 
alone  the  conflict  with  the  greatest  vice  upon 
earth?  The  existing  spectacle  is  singular  at 
least — that  of  ten  million  women  attempting  to 
close  the  gates  of  death  which  ten  million  men 
help  to  keep  open.  The  temperance  reform  may 
well  remind  us  of  that  scene  in  the  classic  Inferno, 
where  a  man  was  doomed  to  make  a  rope  of  hay 
to  reach  to  the  outer  world  of  light  and  liberty, 
but,  while  he  was  busy  twisting  his  life-rope,  a 
flock  of  wild  asses  stood  behind  a  wall  eating  up 
the  grassy  string  with  a  calm  and  perpetual  de- 
light. Thus  womanhood  twists  her  temperance 
rope  in  vain.  She  will  never  find  the  longed-for 
light  and  liberty.  There  is  too  much  consuming 
ability  at  the  other  end  of  the  rope.  It  is  to  be 
believed  that    our    ethical   congresses   will    talc 


120 

some  action  that  may  make  the  war  against  dis- 
tilled drinks  the  war  of  manhood  and  womanhood 
alike  against  a  destructive  vice.  In  the  face  of 
all  the  temperance  work  of  the  past  few  years 
Boston  sent  more  rum  to  Africa  in  the  past  year 
than  it  has  sent  in  any  one  season  of  recent  times. 
With  the  Christians  on  the  one  side  of  Africa 
stealing  men  and  women  for  slaves,  and  with 
Christians  on  the  other  side  sending  the  negroes 
cargoes  of  rum,  the  scene  is  one  worthy  of  the 
thought  of  a  world's  congress — worthy  of  its  de- 
bate, its  tears,  its  action. 

It  is  now  true  that  the  continent  of  Africa  is 
to  lie  for  eight  days  before  a  Columbian  assembly 
next  summer.  The  fact  was  made  the  theme  of  a 
pamphlet  in  November  last.  The  essay  was  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  F.  P.  Noble,  of  the  Newberry  Library 
of  this  city.  In  those  eight  days  eminent  men, 
from  many  parts  of  the  world  and  from  Africa 
itself , are  to  state  all  the  sad  and  joyful  facts  in 
the  great  case,  and  are  to  outline  some  policy  for 
civilization  to  adopt  and  pursue.  Africa  is  three 
times  as  large  as  all  of  Europe,  three  times  as 
large  as  our  republic,  it  is  one-fifth  of  all  the  land 
on  the  globe,  and  yet  it  has  been  the  historic  scene 


121 


of  desolation,  and  the  place  whither  the  Chris- 
tians  have  repaired  when  they  wished  to  contra- 
dict every  teaching  of  their  Divine  Master.    It  has 
sustained  two  hundred  millions  of  blacks  whose 
ignorance  made  a  market  for  rum,  and  whose  pov- 
erty and  docility  made  them  valuable  as  slaves.  Mr. 
Noble  estimates  that  only  one  in  two  hundred  ever 
met  a  Christian  teacher  acting  as  such  in  the  name 
of  God's  love,  but  it  needs  no  mathematical  fiffur- 
mg  to  teach  us  that  few  of  those  millions  are  stran- 
gers to  the  white  man  as  a  bloody  warrior  and  as 
an  unfeeling  thief.     The  slave  trade  and  the  rum 
trade  have  made  all  Africa  fully  aware  of   the 
existence  of  a  white  man's  world  in  the  North. 
They  know  it  by  our  depravity. 

It  is  a  blessed  thought  that  this  Africa  is  to  lie 
in  her  mangled  and  bleeding  form  for  eight  days 
before  the  eyes  of  cultivated  people  convened 
from  all  parts  of  the  enlightened  land.  There 
will  be  cheering  facts  to  be  set  forth,  facts  which 
will  kindle  pity  into  hope;  and  there  will  be 
plenty  of  that  wisdom  which  can  come  from  men 
who  have  lived  in  the  land  of  which  they  will 
speak.  We  all  want  music  to  sound  all  through 
those  summer  months,  and  machinery  to  speak, 


122 

and  art  to  speak,  but  do  we  not  also  wish  for  an 
Africa  to  stand  forth  and  plead  her  cause  with  an 
eloquence  born  out  of  her  centuries  of  bitterness? 
Our  rail -cars  will  seem  greater  if  they  are  going 
to  penetrate  the  Dark  Continent,  our  telegraph 
will  grow  wonderful  if  it  is  thought  of  as  holding 
Africa  in  its  net-work  and  making  noble  words 
pass  quickly  to  and  fro  in  that  area  of  prolific  nature 
which  reaches  in  length  or  breadth  five  thousand 
miles.  And  all  music  will  sound  nobler  when  it 
shall  offer  rest  and  peace  to  hearts  that  have  been 
made  tender  by  sympathy  with  the  needs  of  our 
race. 

"  Men  and  Things''  make  the  best  motto,  but 
with  the  men  exalting  the  things  and  the  things 
empowering  the  men. 

The  fine  arts  and  music  and  literature,  great 
as  they  are,  are  not  the  end  and  measure  of  human 
life.  The  fact  that  society  lives  by  political  truth, 
social  truth,  religious  truth,  and  scientific  truth, 
marks  out  for  us  the  place  for  all  the  beautiful 
things.  Were  it  not  for  music  we  should  live  a 
less  happy  life,  but  were  it  not  for  agriculture  we 
should  all  die  next  summer.  Painting  is  a 
delightful  art,  but  were  it  not  for  political  science 


123 

we  should  all  be  savages.  Sometimes  young 
people  of  an  extreme  style  boast  of  taking  no 
interest  in  the  social  sciences,  they  are  so  fond  of 
music  and  society;  but  had  not  science  come, 
their  music  would  now  be  a  tom-tom  and  their 
elite  society  a  band  of  Digger  Indians.  It  takes 
utility  to  make  a  world,  and  beauty  to  adorn  it. 
Neither  is  utility  the  aim  and  measure  of 
human  life.  To  live  for  politics  or  agriculture 
or  social  science  alone  is  to  commit  a  sin  against 
nature.  This  is  to  use  only  one  half  of  the  soul. 
If  we  are  to  plow  a  furrow  to  grow  bread ,  we 
ask  to  be  permitted  while  we  plow  to  hear  the 
morning  bird  and  to  see  the  blossoming  orchard. 
The  plowman  is  to  be  greater  than  his  furrow. 
As  the  girl  must  be  greater  than  her  music,so  the 
farmer  must  be  greater  than  his  plow.  The  girl 
must  reach  up  her  hand  and  touch  the  realm  of 
utility ;  and  man  must  turn  from  his  labor  and 
visit  the  kingdom  of  beauty.  To  despise  either 
social  science  or  beautiful  art  is  to  pass  through 
life  with  only  one  half  of  a  soul.  As  the  great 
Columbian  buildings  are  made  of  iron  and  then 
adorned  and  shaped  by  art,they  stand  as  the  sym- 
bols of  man's  life,  for  it  must  possess  both  delicacy 


124 

and  iron,  plenty  of  high  music  and  the  iron  of 
deep  thought.  As  artists  and  art  lovers  the 
world's  public  may  journey  thither  next  summer; 
but  the  many  ought  to  come  hither  as  men,  and 
be  both  the  world's  iron  and  the  world's  taste. 

Here, where  common  sense  is  to  deal  with  pol- 
itics, with  labor,  with  capital,  with  the  pure  in 
letters  and  art, it  will  make  a  review  of  religion. 
Would  that  such  a   congress  could  make  religion 
simpler  and  ask  the  church  to  sum  up  Christian- 
ity in  an  imitation  of  Jesus  Christ!     The  whole 
length  and  all  the  centuries  of  Christendom  have 
been  deeply  injured  by  a  religion  of  forms.     The 
creed  has  always  been  greater  than  virtue.     The 
Roman    Catholic    Church    has   groaned  for  cen- 
turies under  a  load  of  crime  and  vice;  the  Church 
of  England  was  but  little  better.     Dean  Hole,  of 
Rochester,  England,  wrote  recently  of  days  not 
far  past  when  many  an  English  rector  lived  far 
away  from  his  parish  and  simply  drew  his  living 
from    the    church    rates  paid  by   his   neglected 
people ;  that  one  of  those  absent  and  fashionable 
pastors  resolved  at  last  to  go  and  see  his  flock  in 
some  mild  and  gentle  weather;  but  on  the  edge 
of  the  village  he  met  a  woman  with  a  basket  full 


125 

of  such  old,  spoiled  fish  that  the  servant  of  God 
ordered  his  carriage  to  face  about  for  home.  In 
the  meantime  the  Presbyterians  drank  heavily 
and  waited  for  God  to  choose  converts  through 
the  mysterious  art  of  election.  Such  was  the 
Christian  church  all  through  those  years  when 
a  scheme  of  doctrine  displaced  a  Christlike  char- 
acter. If  a  congress  of  religions  can  do  anything 
in  favor  of  a  simple  imitation  of  Christ,  they  will 
change  the  whole  quality  of  the  world.  Bishop 
Ireland  would  evidently  welcome  some  reform 
that  would  prevent  his  foolish  people  from  watch- 
ing for  miracles  on  church  windows,  and  should 
lead  them  to  seek  for  pictures  of  Christ  and 
angels  in  their  hearts.  The  only  miracle  of  any 
value  to  the  church  of  to-morrow  is  a  miracle  of 
a  righteous  and  benevolent  life.  Toward  such  a 
final  miracle  the  Christian  church  is  slowly  turn- 
ing. May  the  congresses  about  to  convene  make 
the  movement  universal  and  rapid. 

Never  before  lay  before  our  civilization  ques- 
tions so  many  and  so  great.  It  seems  that  many 
of  the  largest  themes  of  reflection  waited  for 
this  period  to  arrive.  The  themes  of  poverty  and 
riches,  woman's  mission,  universal  education,  com- 


126 

mimion  in  its  good  sense,  war  or  peace,  pure  or 
low  art,  temperance,  government  of  cities,  humane 
laws  and  religion,  are  all  here  waiting  for  a 
hearing  in  the  high  court.  It  is  the  greatness 
of  the  court  that  has  evoked  the  high  cases. 
This  is  the  first  century  which  has  been  bold 
enough  and  thoughtful  enough  to  be  worthy  of 
presiding  over  debates  which  once  would  have 
been  argued  with  blood  and  fire. 

Let  us  all  listen  to  all  the  pleadings  which 
gifted  counselors  can  make.  That  was  a  much 
smaller  day  when  the  two  Greek  orators  debated 
about  the  price  of  honor — a  golden  crown — for 
then  the  city  of  Athens  lay  in  doubt  between  two 
kings;  but  now  the  whole  of  Christendom  lies  in 
doubt  between  religions  worthless  or  divine, 
between  acts  low  or  pure,  society  trifling  or  great, 
1  >etween  awful  wars  or  sweet  peace. 

What  went  ye  out  to  the  wilderness  to  see? 
A  reed  whistling  in  the  wind?  Ah,  no!  We 
went  to  see  the  holy  face  of  a  prophet  and  to  hear 
the  last  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  pour  out 
its  many -voiced  eloquence. 


Vmmorality 

My  brethren,  these  things  ought  not  so  to  be — James  iii.  10. 

We  need  not  attempt  to  find  the  origin  of  the 
feeling  of  obligation.  All  agree  with  the  far- 
off  Saint  James  that  there  are  many  things  that 
ought  not  to  be  so,  and  there  are  many  things 
that  ought  to  be  so.  The  ancient  moralists  used 
to  wonder  whether  this  feeling  of  obligation 
came  from  the  gods,  or  whether  the  gods  were 
themselves  bound  by  it.  Differ,  as  many  think- 
ers may,  as  to  the  origin  and  warrant  of  morality, 
morality  itself  is  felt  to  be  here  and  to  be  the 
hope  and  ornament  of  society.  Cicero  uttered  re- 
grets that  morality  could  not  assume  a  personal 
form,  and  be  visible  to  the  eye.  In  his  essay  on 
ethics,  he  exclaims:  "What  affection  would  vir- 
tue call  forth  could  she  only  become  a  visible  per- 
sonage ! "  He  was,  perhaps,  thinking  of  the 
Camillas  and  Dianas  who  had  been  seen  in  wheat - 
field  or  forest;  he  also  remembered  the  Venus 
who  had  often  been  visible  in  some  form  more 
beautiful  than  life.     He  lamented  that  the  idea  of 

morality  could  not  sweep  along  before  society, 

m 


128 

and  take  away  from  all  hearts  all  doubt  as  to  the 
matchless  beauty  of  her  form  and  soul.  Plato 
preceded  the  Roman  essayist  in  this  wish,  for  he 
said:  "Could  this  supreme  wisdom  be  visible  to 
the  eye  she  would  call  forth  a  vehement  affection 
by  her  charms.'1 

The  term  "morals  "  must  signify  that  form  of 
conduct  which  most  regards  all  rights,  and  which 
leads  each  and  all  to  the  highest  welfare.  Many 
definitions  might  be  given, of  which  each  might  be 
good  and  all  imperfect.  A  convenient  definition 
may  be  this — that  morals  are  the  best  moral  ways 
to  the  best  ends.  It  is  declared  by  many  that 
perfect  morals  might  be  found  and  followed  in  a 
nation  where  there  was  no  religion,  in  a  nation 
which  might  have  rejected  the  idea  of  a  God;  but 
such  a  proposition  is  rendered  purely  theoretical 
by  the  fact  that  no  nation  has  existed  without  a 
religion.  In  those  countries  which  have  produced 
a  few  atheists  the  civilization  has  been  made  by 
the  overwhelming  majority.  We  have  never 
seen  in  any  land  a  public  virtue  that  had  never 
been  touched  by  a  religion. 

Men  who  may  differ  greatly  over  the  tenets 
of  Christianity  and  natural  religion,  all  meet  in 


129 

the  department  of  morality.  Morality  is  the  hope 
of  our  race.  To  oppose  virtue  is  to  declare  one- 
self a  pirate,  and  is  to  merit  a  sentence  of  out- 
lawry. Morality  is  a  word  that  stands  for  the 
common  weal.  It  surpasses  in  significance  the 
word  "art"  or  "beauty"  or  "culture,"  because 
society  might  do  without  those  blessings,  but  it 
can  not  exist  without  morality. 

An  event  occurred  not  long  since  which  gave 
all  local  moralists  a  thrill  of  delight.  Thouffht- 
ful  men  of  name  and  fortune  were  asked  to  ex- 
press their  views  as  to  the  merit  of  a  fashionable 
park  at  which  horse-racing  for  money  was  an  an- 
nual and  fashionable  pleasure.  It  was  an  inspira- 
tion to  hear  from  great  capitalists  and  public,fash- 
ionable  citizens  a  plain  condemnation  of  all  such 
forms  of  sport  and  gain.  They  lamented  that  their 
beautiful  piece  of  ground  had  become  disgraced  by 
the  gambler's  art;  they  had  ceased  to  visit  the  once 
pleasant  resort;  they  would  delight  in  the  death 
of  a  "  club "  whose  happiness  and  gains  must 
come  from  such  a  degraded  and  degrading 
sourer. 

All  these  men  had  been  in  the  world  long 
enough  to  have  their  minds  fully  made  up  as  to 


130 

what  paths  lead  to  the  best  ends.  They  had  seen 
young  men  and  young  women,  too,  allured  to 
ruin  by  the  betting  mania,  and.  had  reached  the 
conclusion  that  a  racing  and  betting  park  could 
not  take  any  part  in  any  of  the  games  and  pur- 
suits of  a  decent  civilization.  That  part  of  our 
public  which  wishes  well  to  humanity  had  not  for 
years  heard  words  that  surpassed  in  truth  and 
goodness  these  few  sentences  from  our  public 
men. 

Men,  old  and  young,  thrown  into  the  betting- 
fever  of  this  aristocratic  race-course,  soon  went  in 
their  delirium  to  a  field  some  miles  away  where  a 
lot  of  innocent  animals  were  whipped  and  spurred 
over  frozen  ground  or  through  deep  mud  to  grat- 
ify the  passions  of  persons  who  had  become  at 
the  same  time  insane  and  brutalized.  When  a 
Washington  Park  can  live  by  gambling,  it  can 
count  upon  having  plenty  of  more  infamous 
parks. as  its  degrading  offspring. 

If  such  race-tracks  constitute  an  immorality, 
all  newspapers  are  immoral,  so  far  as  they  adver- 
tise the  disgraceful  events.  Every  newspaper 
ought  to  be  a  moralist.  It  need  not  be  a  preacher 
of  some  dogma  that  may  save  a  soul,  but  it  ought 


131 

to  be  a  preacher  of  all  that  will  save  humanity. 
As  society  asks  for  a  pure  art  and  a  pure  drama 
and  a  pure  literature,  so  it  demands  a  pure  news- 
paper.  The  men  who  are  capable  of  writing  ed- 
itorials for  great  journals  ought  to  be  unwilling 
to  join  their  essays  to  an  advertisement  for  some 
coterie  of  infamous  men  and  women.  It  ought  to 
be  unpleasant  to  a  great  writer  when  he  has  read 
over  his  own  column  on  literature,  or  honor,  or 
benevolence,  or  the  progress  of  the  age,  to  find 
some  other  column  of  his  sheet  all  devoted  to  the 
advance  of  vice. 

A  newspaper  can  not  be  divided  into  two 
parts — an  editorial  part  and  a  business  section. 
The  proprietors  can  not  be  half  villain  and  half 
saint.  If  there  is  any  virtue  on  the  editorial 
page,  it  must  color  the  business  section.  In  the 
dissolute  years  of  the  church,  archbishops  made 
a  distinction  between  their  conduct  when  in  their 
robes  and  their  conduct  when  in  citizens'  garb; 
but  the  thinking  world  soon  abolished  this  divis- 
ion of  the  high  official,  and  the  whisky  section 
of  the  archbishop  was  at  last  suppressed.  So 
the  modern  editor  can  not  fashion  himself  into 
hemispheres — an    editorial   page  that  resembles 


132 

the  essays  of  Addison,  and  the  business  page  that 
delights  the  gambling  and  fighting  fraternity.  A 
newspaper  possesses  just  as  definite  a  personage 
as  belongs  to  a  president  or  a  bishop.  No  soul 
can  make  a  moral  distinction  between  its  literary 
hours  and  its  business  hours.  As  the  English 
bishop  or  rector  can  no  longer  appear  in  two 
roles,  those  of  the  prayer-book  and  the  bottle,  so  all 
editors  and  proprietors  and  all  men  must  live 
and  act  in  only  one  part,  that  of  morality.  Life 
means  morality. 

It  should  also  be  stated  here  that  nothing 
immoral  is  business.  Business  implies  an  honor- 
able industry  or  trade.  We  do  not  reckon  foot- 
pads and  burglars  among  our  business  men.  The 
maxim,  "  Business  is  business,11  is  very  much  of 
a  falsehood  as  it  is  used,  for  it  means  this:  that 
an  archbishop  is  an  archbishop,  even  if  he  is 
drunk.  Such  a  use  of  language  our  world  has 
outgrown.  The  men  who  once  used  it  will  soon 
all  be  dead. 

If  we  interpret  the  word  "immorality11  as 
meaning  that  which  always  injures  the  body  or 
the  mind  or  both,  then  we  have  a  field  of  thought 
quite  distinct  from  that  of  orthodox  Christianity, 


133 

and  no  one  need  fear  that  in  giving  his  heart  to 
morality  he  is  supporting  the  church. 

Not  a  few  men  are  afraid  to  be  moralists  for 
fear  they  may  be  mistaken  for  clergymen.  Not 
long  since  a  clergyman  attempted  to  reason  on 
our  streets  with  an  inebriated  man,  but  the 
staggering  gentleman  said  to  the  preacher:  "I 
am  not  one  of  your  white  cravat  fellows.  I  take 
whisky  when  I  please."  He  was  only  one  among 
millions  who  connect  morality  with  some  church 
creed ;  whereas  morality  belongs  to  the  profound 
study  and  welfare  of  society.  England  sells  to 
China  each  year  sixty  millions  of  dollars  worth 
of  opium.  Such  a  transaction  is  simply  immoral. 
There  is  nothing  of  virtue  or  honor  in  such  sale 
of  goods.  As  a  result  China  has  millions  of 
men  who  are  mental  and  physical  ruins;  but  the 
scene  has  nothing  to  do  with  church  or  creed;  it 
is  simply  a  scene  in  the  history  of  the  human 
race.  The  man  who  can  not  separate  morals 
from  the  church  has  an  intellect  not  calculated 
to  excite  envy.  Religion  ought  to  make  its  votary 
a  more  ardent  student  and  lover  of  morals,  but 
the  welfare  of  man  ought  to  make  morality  an 
aim  of  beinsr. 


134 

If  we  examine  those  laws  which  the  Christian 
Church  calls  the  laws  of  God,  and  which  it  al- 
leges were  taught  through  inspired  men,  we  find 
that  they  are  taught  also  by  human  welfare. 
Thou  shalt  not  kill,  steal,  lie,  covet,  are  all  laws 
of  common  human  happiness.  Thus  when  Christ 
says,  "Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart;  blessed  the 
peacemakers,"  he  is  passing  along  among  the 
people  letting  fall  those  benedictions  which  rea- 
son repeats  in  all  her  sober  hours  of  reflection. 
Thus  there  is  a  morality  upon  which  even  the 
highest  religion  bases  all  its  rules  of  conduct. 
Christ  came  not  to  invent  or  create  a  code  of 
morals,  but  to  teach  and  adorn  the  one  universal 
and  everlasting  code.  He  said  with  others,  but 
more  eloquently  than  all  others:  "  Oh,  that  vir- 
tue were  a  visible  personage,  that  mankind  might 
stand  amazed  and  entranced  at  her  beauty." 

The  unpopularity  of  the  Sunday  idea  comes 
from  the  foolish  sensibility  of  many  about  being 
imposed  upon  by  the  church.  They  fear  it  is  the 
clergy  that  make  whisky  a  forbidden  drink. 
Thus  many  associate  Sunday  with  the  orthodox 
religion,  while  the  real  truth  is, the  abrogation  of 
that  day  would  be  an  act  of  immorality.     And  it 


135 

would  be  a  more  immoral  act  in  our  period  than 
it  was  in  past  times,  because  our  age  is,beyond  all 
ages,  labor-ridden,  care-ridden  and  gold -mad. 

We  are  indeed  so  gold-mad  and  pleasure-mad 
that  we  are  often  stone-blind  to  virtues  and  vices. 
We  Lave  come  to  a  time  when, instead  of  having 
our  work  lessened  by  machinery  and  inventions, 
we  perceive  that  it  is  doubled.  All  our  leisure 
hours  are  gone.  In  an  inventory  of  our  minds 
and  hearts  it  is  uncertain  whether  we  should  all 
be  classified  as  fools  or  slaves.  Our  names  are 
hidden  away  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of 
these  two  terms.  If  there  is  anything  we  need 
it  is  a  Sunday  of  rest  and  reflection.  On  all  the 
Saturdays  of  summer  all  shops,  stores,  offices, and 
factories  should  be  closed  at  noon,  as  a  confession 
that  machines  have  lessened  labor  and  that  our 
nation  is  inhabited  by  men  of  thought  and  kind- 
ness. On  each  Saturday  afternoon  ail  toilers 
should  have  the  liberty  of  air  and  sunshine,  play 
and  beauty,  and  on  Sunday  they  should  taste 
again  the  sweetness  of  rest  and  peace. 

We  should  all  entertain  a  high  regard  for 
steam  engines,  telegraphs  and  electric  railways, 
but  we  should  not  permit  our  souls  to  be  swin- 


136 

died  by  those  elegant  things.  They  must  not 
come  between  us  and  our  books,  our  churches, 
our  homes,  our  benevolence,  our  friendships.  If 
Sunday  possesses  a  moral  quality  and  contains 
something  good  for  each  soul  upon  earth,  let  us 
not  sell  out  the  day  for  so  much  gold.  Let  us 
turn  Saturday  into  a  holiday  and  keep  Sunday 
for  rest  aud  peace.  It  is  highly  immoral  to  ask 
what  gate-money  a  Sunday  would  bring. 

Our  city  is  not  so  glutted  with  goodness  that 
it  feels  constrained  to  unload.  Our  nation  at 
large  has  no  ideas  to  sell.  It  would  much  better 
enter  the  market  as  a  purchaser.  And  if  what 
we  want  is  gate-money,  we  would  better  buy  all 
the  Saturdays  of  next  summer;  for  our  Sunday  of 
peace  and  rest  may  be  more  beautiful  and  more 
noble  than  the  Columbian  Exhibition  itself. 
Among  the  articles  of  exhibition  next  summer  we 
ought  to  point  the  world  to  a  Western  civiliza- 
tion. Our  fame  as  a  howling  bedlam  is  complete. 
Our  fame  as  a  noble  home  for  morality  and  cult- 
ure is  yet  to  be  won.  The  opportunity  is  near. 
That  fame  might  be  secured  in  the  space  of  one 
rich  summer-time.  Saturday  is  the  day  we  want 
for  the  pleasure  and  profit  of  all  the  laboring 


137 

classes  of  the  coming  days.     Let  us  even  enter 
our  sweat-shops  and  set  free  our  slaves. 

Let  us  return  to  the  general  study  of  immo- 
rality. A  French  thinker  and  writer  has  pub- 
lished a  little  volume  upon  a  form  of  vice  little 
discussed.  Moses  passed  the  vice  by  when  he 
made  the  decalogue,  and  Plato  and  Cicero  over- 
looked this  shape  of  public  injury.  The  name  of 
this  evil  is  luxury.  The  first  Latin  writer  who 
made  a  paragraph  out  of  this  sin  came  in  the  last 
days  of  the  empire,  and  said  over  a  dead  friend: 
"Thou  wast  never  betrayed  by  that  sweet  curse 
called  luxury.  With  a  pleasing  face  that  enemy 
surrounds  body  and  mind  with  a  cloud,  and 
weakens  man  with  drugs  more  powerful  than  the 
poison  of  Circe."  It  is  singular  that  no  one  can 
define  the  term. 

This  Frenchman  says:  "Luxury  is  something 
that  costs  much  and  is  of  no  value."  "Man  does 
not  need  it."  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  define 
the  word.  The  fact  is  here,  that  there  is  some 
power  or  passion  sweeping  over  our  country  and 
touching  millions  who  once  lived  in  simplicity 
and  under  divine  law.  One  of  our  states  is 
attempting  to  pass  an  act  to  suppress  the  manu- 


138 

facture  and  use  of  a  kind  of  poison  smoked  by 
young  men.  Not  only  does  the  article  cost  much 
and  contain  no  value,  but  it  carries  an  injury. 
But  it  would  take  many  laws,  indeed,  were  the 
State  to  attempt  to  turn  the  money  of  the  work- 
ingmen  and  of  the  upper  classes  along  channels 
of  lasting  value.  Perhaps  one -fourth  of  the  earn- 
ings of  the  laboring  man  goes  in  the  direction 
of  some  curse,  as  the  Latin  says,  "  some  sweet 
curse."  Many  laborers  confess  that  their  drinks 
cost  thirty  cents  a  day,  while  many  men  of  small  sal- 
ary and  small  means  spend  two  hundred  dollars  a 
year  on  the  luxury  of  smoke.  Great  sarcasm  is 
hurled  by  the  poor  laborer  at  the  rich  man  who 
buys  a  costly  diamond  for  wife  or  daughter;  but 
the  poor  laborer  who  is  so  sarcastic,  instead  of 
buying  a  diamond  for  ornament  and  investment, 
buys  one  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  beer  each 
year,  thus  robbing  self  and  wife  and  daughter; 
for  beer  is  nothing  but  a  dead  loss  to  the  con- 
sumer, even  when  it  is  not  an  injury. 

When  we  pass  from  the  malt  to  the  distilled 
drinks,  the  havoc  caused  by  luxury  becomes  im- 
measurable. All  the  folly  of  earth  diminishes 
when  compared  to  this  attachment  to  drink.    The 


139 

opium  habit  in  China  is  a  small  local  disease 
when  compared  with  this  epidemic.  People  are 
now  wondering  whether  cholera  will  come  next 
summer.  Whisky  has  come.  The  cholera  makes  its 
call  once  in  about  eighteen  years,  and  slays  a  multi- 
tude. Whisky  comes  every  day  in  every  year,  and 
by  its  ravages  makes  the  epidemic  fr<  >m.  Asia  a  mere 
weakling.  Englishmen  spend  five  hundred  mill- 
ion dollars  a  year  in  drinks;  Americans  certainly 
not  less.  And  yet  the  laboring  men,  who  help 
make  this  evil, will  complain  at  the  human  race 
for  having  diamonds  and  carriages.  The  cholera 
is  a  mystery  of  the  air;  drink  is  one  of  man's  own 
home-made  luxuries.  The  savages  got  along  quite 
well  when  their  luxuries  were  feathers,  beads, 
paint,  and  great  feasts  of  corn  bread  and  venison,  but 
when  the  white  man's  luxury  came  to  them  they 
staggered  and  fell.  Wonderful  invention  of  the 
white  man — a  drink  that  will  quickly  turn  a 
statesman  or  an  Indian  into  an  idiot!  These 
drinkers  will  laugh  at  the  Roman  Emperor  who 
was  so  sensual  as  to  make  a  dinner  of  birds' 
tongues,  and  will  then  draw  a  bottle  from  their 
pocket  and  take  a  drink.  It  need  not  require 
much  reflection  to  decide  whether  the  Roman  or 
the  modern  were  the  greater  fool. 


140 

Luxury  as  a  general  rule  is  the  displacement 
of  real  life.  It  does  not  tell  us  where  man  and 
woman  are,  but  rather  it  points  out  the  place 
where  they  used  to  be;  or  it  suggests  by  sorrow- 
ful contrast  the  moral  beauty  which  they  might 
have  reached.  As  some  of  the  savage  tribes  in 
Africa  ornament  their  women  with  rings  and 
accouterments  until  the  decorated  beings  can  not 
walk  or  even  stand,  thus  in  civilized  lands  luxury 
points  out  not  life's  triumph,  but  the  place  where 
it  sunk.  Luxury  is  not  the  throne  of  manhood 
or  womanhood,  but  its  grave.  As  men  who  are 
to  run  a  race,  or  to  engage  in  the  physical  arena, 
dare  eat  and  drink  only  in  simplicity,  as  the 
college  athletic  clubs  must  live  near  to  nature's 
simplest  lines,  as  great  singers  will  not  ruin  their 
voices  by  gluttony,  as  orators  must  live  simply 
when  they  are  to  make  a  great  argument,  thus  all 
the  forms  and  hours  of  human  life  must  look  to 
simplicity  for  its  triumph  and  to  luxury  for  its 
defeat.  How  often,  in  the  street  or  in  society,  do 
we  meet  the  early  ruins  of  both  forms  of  beauty, 
that  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  soul!  They 
touched  modern  luxury  and  sank. 

In  the  long  history  of  man  there  have  come  at 
regular  intervals  tears  of  both  religion  and  phi- 


141 

losophy  over  the  ruins  made  by  this  immorality. 
Socrates  in  his  simple  garb  was  a  protest  against 
the  age  which  at  last  put  him  to  death.  Christ 
is  the  most  sublime  and  thrilling  protest  the  earth 
ever  had  or  saw.  His  gospel  was  that  of  a  life, 
simple  on  its  physical  side,  but  on  its  mental  side 
rich  to  a  divine  magnificence.  At  regular  inter- 
vals  society  has  become  so  besotted  with  its  vices 
that  loud  and  hot  protests  have  come  as  though 
even  the  stones  must  speak. 

It  comes  to  memory  now  that  an  early  Chris- 
tian, Lactantius,  published  in  the  fourth  century 
a  letter  which  he  pretended  a  Hebrew  patriarch 
had  written  before  the  time  of  Moses.  These  are 
a  few  of  its  words:  "I  know,  my  children,  that  in 
the  latter  times  you  will  forsake  simplicity  and  will 
cleave  unto  money,  and  leaving  innocence  you  will 
cleave  unto  guile.  *  *  *  I  am  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years  old,  and  have  never  drunk  any  wine, 
to  be  led  astray  thereby;  I  have  never  longed  for 
anything  that  was  my  neighbor's.  When  men 
have  wept,  I  have  wept  with  them.  I  never  have 
eaten  alone.  I  have  shared  my  bread  with  the 
poor.  True  simplicity  broodeth  not  over  gold; 
it  defrauds  not  a  neighbor;  it  does  not  lono;  for 


142 

manifold  dainties  for  the  table;  it  does  not  delight 
in  varied  apparel.'"  Thus  runs  this  long  letter, 
and  whether  it  came  down  from  the  old  Hebrews 
or  was  written  by  Lactantius,  it  points  out  fully 
one-half  the  wrongs  and  sorrows  of  our  century. 
Our  times  must  face  this  old  fact;  give  an  age 
money  and  the  age  will  sink  in  luxury.  Such  a 
charge  should  soon  cease  to  be  true.  If  intelli- 
gence and  true  taste  are  being  amassed  rapidly, 
these  new  giants  ought  to  filter  the  immorality 
out  of  society  and  make  all  its  pursuits  noble  and 
all  its  pleasures  high  and  everlasting.  Taste  and 
money  ought  to  border  all  our  old  race-tracks 
with  a  tropical  wealth  of  trees  and  flowers.  Make 
the  boughs  of  trees  meet  over  them.  Make  the 
noble  animals  march  in  a  floral  cavalcade,  and 
charge  us  all  for  seeing  such  a  splendor  of  nature. 
Let  gambling  die,  let  beauty  live!  Long,  long 
ago  all  this  weak  immorality  ought  to  have  been 
in  its  grave,  and  true  Beauty  on  her  throne.  Why 
do  we  so  long  and  patiently  labor  to  make  our 
world  too  vile  to  be  man's  home  ?  One  sentence 
is  distinctly  audible:  it  is  full  time  for  immorality 
to  cease  its  ravages.  This  sentence  comes  not 
from  the  church,  but  from  the  millions  of  human 


us 

hearts  that  ache  and  bleed.  We  put  in  the  bal- 
ances against  all  immoralities  the  hot  tears  of  our 
race. 

Such  is  that  argument  which  society  here  in 
this  world  weaves  against  all  harmful  vice.     But 
not  even  the  deist  or  atheist  ought  to  complain  if 
the  Christian  adds  to  this  argument  drawn  from 
society  that  additional  influence   or   persuasion 
that  comes  from  the  teachings  and  sentiments  of 
a  high  religion.     It  will  not  take  away  from  the 
repulsiveness  of  immorality  if,  in  addition  to  the 
hate   cherished   toward    it    by   good    men,  it    is 
thought  that  there   is  a  God  who  hates  it.     It 
will  not  harm  the  law  of  simplicity  and  honor  if 
besides  issuing  from  the  welfare  of  our  race  it 
comes  also  from  God's  central  throne.     Can  it  be 
blamed  upon  the  religious  man  that  he  fights  sin 
too  earnestly?     Is  it  a  rejDroach  to  John  the  Bap- 
tist that  he  preached  too  loud  against  the  Herods 
of  his  day?     Is  it  a  reproach  to  Jesus  that  he 
made  his  faith  an  inspiration   against  all  wrong 
and  a  motive  of  goodness  ?     Is  it  a  reproach  to 
Xavier  that  he  sailed  upon  seas  too  rough  and  to 
help  men  too  savage  ?     Is  it  a  reproach  to  Mar- 
quette that  he  taught  men  who  were  too  red  and 


144 

passed  his  winter  in  snows  too  deep?  The  irre- 
ligious man  who  sees  the  awful  depths  of  vice  in 
city  and  town  must  look  only  in  admiration  upon 
those  who  make  the  belief  in  God  and  immortality 
an  inspiration  to  labor  and  die  in  behalf  of  our 
race.  The  church  admits  that  the  laws  of  society 
are  found  in  society  itself,  but  it  claims  the  right 
to  think  of  God  as  the  maker  of  society  and  as 
the  Being,  faith  in  whom  will  make  social  laws 
all  shine  as  though  written  in  letters  of  gold. 
The  moral  men  of  this  world  only  ought  to  con- 
fess the  assistance  they  receive  from  the  minds 
that  believe  in  a  life  to  come.  When  the  atheists 
of  America  perceive  the  vices  which  ought  to  be 
checked,  and  the  millions  of  men  who  ought  to  be 
lifted  to  a  higher  character,  they  may  well  wel- 
come the  help  of  those  who  feel  that  humanity 
did  not  come  from  dust  but  from  a  God.  Each 
moral  atheist  ought  to  welcome  the  assistance  of 
a  man  who  believes  in  heaven. 

The  more  divine  society  is,  the  greater  are  the 
laws  which  encompass  it.  Honesty,  simplicity, 
kindness  are  noble  even  if  they  sprang  from  the 
realm  of  only  earth,  air,  water,and  heat,  but  they 
are  nobler  if  they  be  also  the  voice  of  a  Supreme 


145 

Mind,  just  as  the  nightingale  would  sing  more 
sweetly  to  us  if  we  knew  that  God  put  the  song 
in  its  heart. 

It  is  not  only  true  that  the  heavens  declare  the 
glory  of  God,  but  it  is  also  true  that  God  enhances 
the  glory  of  the  heavens.  It  is  this  dream  of  the 
worshiper  that  makes  the  distances  of  the  stars 
so  appalling  and  the  whole  mystery  so  profound. 
The  star -depths  speak  out  in  sublime  poetry  when 
man  makes  them  a  part  of  a  creator's  empire.  The 
stars  sing  to  us: 

"A  million  torches  kindled  by  God's  hand 

Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss; 
They  own  God's  power,  they  move  at  His  command, 

All  gay  with  life  and  eloquent  with  bliss. 
AVhat  shall  we  call  them?     Piles  of  crystal  light? 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams  ? 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright  ? 

Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  happy  beams  ? 
But  God  to  these  is  as  the  noon  to  night.  *' 

This  Deity  which  so  ennobles  the  heavens, 
ennobles  also  the  moral  laws  which  encompass 
mankind.  They  seem  no  longer  the  relations  of 
dust  to  dust  but  the  advice  of  an  infinite  friend, 
the  conclusions  reached  by  the  Supreme  Wisdom, 
the  sweetly -rolling  eloquence  of  the  sky.  An 
economist  may  teach  us  law,  but  Jesus   Christ 


146 

makes  the  law  beautiful.  He  loves  it,  lie  weeps 
over  it,  lie  dies  for  it.  Reason  can  teach,  but 
religion  can  inspire. 

It  is  the  new  glory  of  the  modern  church  that 
it  has  begun  to  assail  immorality.  It  has  grown 
weary  of  seeing  a  beautiful  world  trampled  down 
by  a  degraded  manhood;  it  beholds  for  the  first 
time  the  length  and  depth  of  a  needless  desecra- 
tion; it  hears  the  Supreme  Judge  say  to  the 
Christian:  "If  you  will  make  this  world  beauti- 
ful I  will  take  care  of  your  immortality.'"  In  a 
few  years  more  the  church  will  deeply  love  the 
laws  of  this  terrestrial  kingdom,  and,  dying  in  a 
redeemed  and  adorned  earth,  will  be  ready  to  pass 
with  joy  through  the  gates  which  open  into  a 
world  free  from  all  immorality  and  adorned  by 
countless  virtues. 


Devotion  anfc  Worfe. 

I  must  work  the  works  of  him  that  sent  me. — John  ix.  4. 
I  passed  along  and   observed  the  objects  of  your  worship. — 
Acts  ii.  23. 

Man  is  the  only  animal  whose  condition  is 
dependent  upon  work.  All  creatures  must  in- 
deed seek  food,  but  we  can  not  designate  the  lion 
or  the  bird  or  fish  as  a  working  animal.  The 
relations  of  man  to  work  are  without  any  paral- 
lel. Man  and  work  are  inseparable.  When  an 
individual  passes  along  from  infancy  without 
meeting  anywhere  a  task  to  be  performed,  that 
individual  dies  young  or  makes  a  most  wretched 
career  for  both  his  mind  and  his  body. 

When  the  Creator  gave  man  a  growing,  infi- 
nite nature,  He  annexed  to  the  gift  an  endless 
amount  of  industry,  because  this  expansive  mind 
could  not  reach  any  of  its  desires  without  work- 
ing for  them.  If  this  gifted  creature  longed  for 
music,  it  had  to  work  for  it,  and  the  man  who 
would  be  a  musician  had  to  work  like  a  farmer 
or  a  carpenter.  If  the  heart  longed  for  skill  in 
any  language  or  art  or  science,it  had  to  pass  over 
the  field  of  toil.     The  Latins  discovered  this  pe- 


148 

culiarity  of  man's  life  and  summed  up  the  fact  in 
their  popular  sentence  that:  No  excellence  is  pos- 
sible without  labor.  Plautus  says:  "Success  is 
like  the  meat  in  a  nut,  surrounded  by  the  hard 
shell  of  labor."  Terence  says:  "Industry  will 
give  man  what  he  seeks.1' 

The  vast  number  of  things  wanted  by  the 
world  shows  how  universal  and  varied  must  be 
the  public  industry.  As  civilization  grows,  the 
human  wants  increase,  and,  therefore,  there  must 
be  a  growth  of  labor  with  each  growth  of  the 
public  culture.  If  the  mind  can  secure  some 
assistance  from  instruments  and  machines,  it  may 
do  so,  but  there  must  always  be  a  growing  indus- 
try of  the  mind  itself,  which.no  machine  can  ever 
supplant.  The  inventions  and  discoveries  made 
by  Fulton  and  Morse  did  not  leave  those  men 
idle  afterward,  nor  generate  leisure ;  they  changed 
only  some  of  the  forms  of  work.  The  machines 
of  England  have  not  created  any  new  leisure  for 
either  the  statesman  or  the  poet  or  the  average 
citizen,  for  the  civilization  which  brought  the  new 
machines  brought  a  new  activity  of  the  mind 
and  heart.  The  telegraph  and  railway  have  not 
made  Mr.  Gladstone  a  man  of  more  leisure.    Man 


149 

&nd  work  are  inseparable,  and  the  more  he  en- 
larges his  world,  the  more  quickly  will  he  have  to 
take  steps  in  its  confines.  The  only  problem  is  to 
find  exactly  the  quantity  of  work  that  shall  be 
most  in  harmony  with  the  perfect  health  of  mind 
and  body.  Each  art,  each  science,  each  emotion 
of  benevolence,  each  new  friendship  means  an  ad- 
dition to  the  work  of  the  age. 

When  you  hear  that  some  man  becomes  at- 
tached to  trees  or  dogs  or  flowers  or  music,  you 
must  give  him  credit  for  industry,  for  no  lazy  man 
ever  formed  an  attachment.  An  indolent  mind 
can  not  form  a  friendship  for  trees,  plants,  or 
music, or  nature,  because  a  friendship  implies  ac- 
tion. An  attachment  means  work.  It  makes 
the  work  sweet,  indeed;  but  the  Creator,  when 
He  ordered  man  to  be  a  toiling  animal,  ordered 
the  toil  to  be  a  source  of  happiness.  Labor  is 
much  sweeter  than  idleness. 

When  one  states  that  man  was  made  for  work, 
there  should  be  made  also  the  companion  state- 
ment that  work  is  a  great,  uniform  source  of 
happiness.  To  see  a  farm  assume  beauty  under 
one's  care,  to  behold  a  statue  assuming  elegant 
shape,  to  see  a  temple  or  a  home  rising  according 


150 

to  one's  plans,  to  see  a  rose  blooming  which 
one  has  planted  and  cared  for,  to  see  a  fire  burn 
brightly  which  we  have  built,  to  have  the  people 
applaud  our  music — all  these  ends  are  ordered  by 
Him  who  ordered  the  days  of  labor  and  solici- 
tude. With  most  minds  their  work  is  their  in- 
spiration. When  work  is  painful  to  body  and 
soul,  then  despotism  and  cruelty  have  displaced 
nature.  When  young  children  work  in  the  shops, 
and  when  men  and  women  work  like  whipped 
slaves,  and  for  a  few  pennies  a  day,  then  God's 
laws  are  as  far  away  as  they  were  from  the  bloody 
ships  of  Captain  Kidd.  We  do  not  call  the 
career  of  Captain  Kidd  "mercantile  life." 

So  the  toil  of  that  woman  who  sung  Hood's 
"Song  of  the  Shirt"  did  not  fall  under  the  head 
of  human  industry,  but  rather  must  it  take  its 
place  among  the  results  of  the  world's  crime. 
When  one  would  make  up  an  estimate  of  indus- 
try one  must  assume  that  the  toiler  enjoys  the 
air,  the  light,  the  food,  the  clothing,  the  rest  and 
sleep  demanded  by  the  man,  woman  or  child.  When 
a  woman  works  fifteen  hours  a  day  for  ten  or  twelve 
cents,  we  must  not  call  that  labor.  It  must  be 
alluded  to   as  torture,   and  in   history  must   be 


151 

written  down  in  the  stoiy  of  the  inquisition.  As 
Kidd  was  not  a  merchant,  but  a  pirate,  so  much 
of  industry  is  not  labor — it  is  martyrdom. 

Away  from  the  wrongs  of  an  age,  labor  is 
one  of  the  glorious  things  of  our  world.  Man's 
mind  is  dormant  until  he  goes  to  work.  When 
the  lawyer,  or  statesman,  or  writer,  or  thinker,  or 
artist  of  any  rank  or  pay  gets  once  fully  at  work, 
then  does  his  mind  come  to  him,  his  sleep  and 
clouds  vanish,  and  his  life's  flood  sets  in.  An 
idle,  lazy  person  has  no  brains;  for  sleepy  brains 
are  not  a  positive  quality.  In  the  new  science 
and  art  of  electricity  the  workmen  recognize 
two  kinds  of  wires — the  live  wire  and  the  dead 
wire.  The  men  are  very  careful  when  they 
have  to  work  around  a  live  wire.  In  the  realm 
of  mind  these  two  terms  may  well  be  used. 

The  idle,  lazy  brain  is  a  dead  wire.  As  a 
promoter  of  sleep  it  has  no  equal.  It  was  diffi- 
cult in  his  late  years  to  arouse  Mr.  Webster;  but, 
could  he  by  some  means  be  once  awakened, then 
all  his  deep  insight,  his  grasp,  his  language,  came 
back  to  him,  and  for  an  hour  or  a  half  day  he 
and  those  who  were  listening  to  the  orations 
were  all  in  the  world  of  intense  and  happy  life. 


152 

When  Theodore  Parker  uttered  his  funeral  ora- 
tion over  the  dead  Webster,  no  listener  moved  in 
his  seat  or  became  tired  or  restless  in  the  two 
and  a  quarter  hours.  The  work  of  thought  made 
life  and  made  happiness,  and  changed  the  two 
hours  into  a  time  of  blessedness. 

Thus  work  is  not  simply  a  doing,  it  is  also  a 
being.  It  is  an  awakening.  When  Sir  John 
Lubbock  was  traveling  among  the  South  Sea 
natives, he  found  them  so  averse  to  any  kind  of 
action  that  they  did  not  love  to  talk  upon  new 
subjects.  They  had  been  asleep  so  many  genera- 
tions that  the  idea  of  a  new  truth  became  painf  ul 
to  them.  Lubbock's  happiness  was  their  mis- 
ery. They  were  dead  men.  Work,  thus,  is 
not  a  source  of  income  only,  but  it  is  also  an 
arousing  of  the  soul.  Often  when  the  reader 
closes  his  book  after  having  read  for  an  hour  in  a 
great  work,  the  question,  What  has  he  learned? 
is  not  half  so  valuable  as  the  question,  What 
has  he  been  ?  He  has  been  a  live  wire  for  the 
time.  His  language,  his  wit,  his  pathos,  his  rea- 
son, his  virtues,  have  all  been  back  and  at  home 
in  his  soul,  and  he  can  say  to  the  book:  "  I  thank 
thee  for  an  hour  of  life." 


153 

It  is  rather  strange  that,  when  the  curious  are 
going  among  the  world  in  search  of  the  reason 
why  so  few  persons  attend  church,  they  should 
omit  one  cause,  like  that  of  the  South  Seas — the 
indolence  which  can  not  endure  the  idea  of  hear- 
ing or  doing  anything.  There  are,  indeed,  many 
good  and  bad  reasons  for  the  absence  of  many 
from  the  world's  church,  but  the  enumeration  of 
causes  will  not  be  complete  until  we  have  in- 
cluded that  mental  indolence  which  does  not  want 
to  encounter  any  person  or  any  thing  or  any 
idea  or  any  music  or  any  motion  of  any  form 
whatever — an  indolence  which  hates,  not  only  a 
sermon,  but  everything  except  a  full  supply  of 
nonentity.  There  are  times  when  many  a  laborer, 
of  high  or  low  grade,  needs  an  absolute  isola- 
tion from  all  activity,  but,  after  all  these  deduc- 
tions have  been  made,  one  must  still  confess  the 
existence  of  a  multitude  who  are  absent  from 
everything,  because  of  an  absolute  torpidity  of 
spirit.  The  thought  of  any  form  of  action  is 
oppressive.  The  church  is  only  one  of  the  suf- 
ferers. These  Asiatic  souls  could  not  water  a 
dying  rose  bush,  nor  throw  out  crumbs  to  a 
sparrow. 


154 

Our  country  has  pushed  work  forward  as  a 
revenue,  but  not  as  a  happiness.  When  society 
shall  think  of  work  as  a  mental  awakening,  as 
an  inspiration,  we  shall  at  once  have  a  better 
world. 

In  that  golden  age,  men  and  women  will 
engage  in  great  works,  because  such  tasks  will 
bring  the  greatest  happiness.  When  we  make 
out  a  role  of  amusements,  such  as  drama,  opera, 
concerts,  dinners,  games,  visiting  and  travel,  we 
should  not  end  the  catalogue  without  adding 
the  word  "work;  "  for  only  recall  for  a  moment 
the  happiness  man  extracts  from  his  pursuit. 
If  the  conditions  of  civilization  were  what  they 
should  be,  there  would  not  be  an  adult  mind 
living,  that  was  not  in  love  with  some  form 
of  industry,  and  there  would  not  be  a  black- 
smith, who  would  not  laugh  at  times  over  his 
anvil,  and  not  a  farmer,  who  would  not  hum  a 
tune  along  his  rich  furrow. 

The  perpetual  satirists  of  modern  womanhood 
make  daily  flings  at  its  fondness  for  lunches,  par- 
ties, lectures,  readings  and  literary  clubs;  but  these 
critics  ought  to  confess  the  promise  and  virtue  in 
a  social  world, which  has  ceased  to  extract  happi- 


155 

ness  from  sleep  and  an  endless  nothingness. 
Given  a  womanhood  fully  awake,  and  the  transi- 
tion becomes  easy  from  ordinary  aims  to  aims 
much  nobler.  A  heart  once  alive  can  move  from 
sphere  to  sphere.  The  modern  womanhood  can 
in  an  instant  show  power  as  the  world  needs. 
We  are  happy  in  the  thought  that  it  lives. 

In  speaking  of  the  nobleness  of  work,  John 
Ruskin  said,  years  ago,  that  a  part  of  the  beauty 
of  a  column,  or  a  statue,  or  a  picture,  is  found  in 
our  admiration  of  the  quantity  of  work  which  it 
contains.  "  The  column  of  the  Apprentice," 
which  attracts  so  many  visitors  to  Rosslyn's 
Chapel,  of  Scotland,  is  made  admirable  by  the 
quantity  and  detail  of  the  carving. 

It  is  as  rich  in  work  as  the  book  of  Dante  or 
the  book  of  Milton.  The  column  holds  up  a  vast 
number  of  thoughts  and  emotions  and  would 
seem  erected  in  memory  of  labor.  A  theory  of 
Mr.  Ruskin  long  ago  was  that  no  painter  should 
ever  throw  in  a  foreground  or  a  background  care- 
lessly. If  his  purpose  is  to  paint  a  ship  on  the  sea, 
the  artist  must  paint  the  pebbles  on  the  shore  just 
as  perfectly  as  he  must  paint  the  ship.  Nothing  in 
any  part  of  the  canvas  must  be  slighted.  Wherever 


150 

the  eye  falls  it  must  see  the  beauty  of  labor.  It 
must  see  that  man,  the  thinker,  actor  and  lover, 
has  been  in  each  inch  of  the  painting.  Work  is 
the  utterance  of  the  soul. 

If  we  ponder  a  moment,  we  shall  conclude  that 
Mr.  Buskin  spoke  truly  and  that  his  principle  is 
of  universal  application.  We  love  to  hear  a 
speech  all  full  of  thought  and  truth,  and  to  read 
a  poem  whose  thoughts,  words  and  rhythm  have 
all  come  through  the  shop  of  the  finisher.  When 
we  read  the  "  Elegy1'  of  Gray,  or  the  "  In  Memor- 
iam"  or  "  Virgil,"  we  feel  that  here  some  work- 
man has  toiled  over  his  task  and  has  turned 
mixed  and  crude  ore  into  pure  gold.  A  stack  of 
last  year's  straw  is  not  so  delightful  as  the  reapers 
at  work  in  a  new  field  of  waving  wheat. 

We  all,  indeed,  live  in  a  working  age,  but  this 
industry  is  poured  out  too  exclusively  upon  one 
subject — the  making  and  securing  of  property. 
Young  men  hasten  through  college,  skipping  over 
great  books  and  great  years,  that  they  may  the 
sooner  reach  the  busy  scenes  around  money.  It 
is  a  sad  blunder  to  hasten  by  the  lands  where  the 
Greeks  and  Komans  exhausted  centuries  of  work 
upon    language,    sentiment,    eloquence,  and    all 


157 

beauty;  sad  to  dash  by  these  charms,  that  we  may 
get  to  the  market-place  the  sooner.  Work  is  not 
only  an  accumulation  of  money,  it  is  also  a  being. 
It  is  a  color  of  the  human  soul. 

Our  energetic  city  has  suddenly  come  upon  a 
form  of  its  weakness;  its  energy  is  all  in  one 
direction.  It  can  pursue  lousiness,  but  it  can  not 
govern  and  adorn  itself.  It  can  not  execute  a 
law.  It  can  not  clean  a  street  or  superintend  a 
contract,  because  there  are  no  minds  or  hearts 
that  are  running  in  those  directions.  The  gen- 
eral industry  is  all  towards  the  affairs  of  the 
individual.  But  the  streets  would  all  fall  under 
the  general  law  of  Mr.  Ruskin,  and  can  be  made 
more  beautiful  only  by  an  enormous  quantity  of 
labor  and  devotion.  The  homes  of  this  city  are 
neat  and  beautiful,  because  each  home  comes  un- 
der the  care  of  some  personal  soul;  but  all  that 
part  of  the  city  which  is  public  catches  no  love 
or  care  from  anybody.  It  is  more  friendless  than 
the  old  blind  horse  turned  out  to  die  on  the  com- 
mons, for  the  humane  society  will  carry  that 
horse  a  bucket  of  water  and  a  bundle  of  hay; 
but  as  for  the  city,  it  has  not  even  the  humane 
society  for  its  friend. 


158 

It  is  a  neglected  orphan,  deaf,  dumb,  blind, 
and  poor.  If  fault-finding  could  save  it,we  cler- 
gymen could  make  it  a  New  Jerusalem  in  two 
days;  if  resolutions  could  make  the  place  beauti- 
ful, the  woman's  movement  last  summer  would 
have  made  untidiness  a  matter  of  history.  What 
the  city  needs  is  some  men  who  have  the  disposi- 
tion and  the  power  to  be  its  friends.  Somebody 
must  come  with  love, to  make  the  foreground  and 
the  background,  and  to  reveal  painstaking  work. 
As  the  picture,  the  statue,  the  book,  the  poem, 
are  made  by  work,  so  the  city  must  be  made  by 
devotion.  To  ask  our  city  to  be  anything, under 
the  existing  apathy,  is  like  asking  a  Virginia 
contraband  to  take  a  whitewash  brush  and  repro- 
duce uThe  Angelus." 

It  is  in  vain  to  double  our  taxes.  Money  will 
not  make  a  beautiful  city.  Three  hundred  mil- 
lion dollars  were  spent  on  the  name  of  '"  Pant  na," 
but  there  is  no  canal.  New  York  City  is  in  debt 
a  hundred  millions,  but  its  condition  is  little  bet- 
ter than  our  own.  The  power  of  money  depends 
upon  the  men  who  direct  the  money.  Can  money 
paint  a  picture?  No,  but  a  gifted  soul  may. 
Can  money  write  a  poem?     No,   but  a  Milton 


159 

-can.  Can  money  clean  a  city?  No,  but  a  Gen- 
eral Butler  can  beautify  a  New  Orleans,  and  a 
Baron  Haussman  can  create  for  France  a  new 
Paris.  Haussman  was  to  Paris,  what  Angelo 
was  to  sculpture,  and  what  Homer  was  to  poetry. 
Whenever  Haussman  flung  the  people's  money, 
beauty  grew  up  where  the  coins  fell ;  and  now, 
France  has  a  city,  because  it  was  able  to  produce 
a  soul. 

All  of  our  cities  are  about  alike  in  weakness 
.and  repulsiveness.  This  city  equals  any  in 
merit,  The  theory  of  each  is  bad.  The  rulers 
of  a  city  should  be  composed  of  men  who  can 
make  deformity  turn  into  beauty,  and  weakness 
turn  into  power.  Millionaires  having  reached 
the  fixed  limit  of  five  or  ten  millions  should  then 
become  the  creator  of  the  city  or  the  State. 
Their  minds  and  gains  should  go  toward  some- 
thing greater  than  a  private  fortune.  How  ab- 
surd it  is  to  elect  a  saloon-keeper  or  saloon 
loafer  to  help  govern  a  city!  Why  did  we 
select  a  great  art  lover  to  collect  and  arrange 
our  pictures  for  the  World's  Fair?  Had  we  no 
chimney-sweep  whom  we  could  have  employed? 
Why    put    educated    ladies    on    the    Woman's 


160 

Columbian  Board?  Could  not  an  employment 
office  have  furnished  a  group  of  girls  ?  When  a 
city  shall  conclude  that,  like  a  piece  of  art,  it 
needs  skill,  industry  and  love,  then  will  it  begin 
to  meet  the  ends  of  its  being. 

Some  of  the  States  are  drafting  laws  by  which 
they  may  secure  a  part  of  the  millions  which 
the  richest  citizens  leave  behind  when  they  die. 
But  who  is  to  spend  this  enormous  income  from 
great  estates?  Unhappy  millionaires,  if  at  death 
a  part  of  their  gold  is  to  pass  into  the  hands 
of  a  city  council!  The  truth  is,  what  a  city 
needs  generally  is  the  help  of  the  powerful  man 
long  before  he  dies.  The  men  who  are  endowing 
our  university  with  libraries,  telescopes,  laborato- 
ries, are  as  powerful  in  their  mind  and  taste  as 
they  are  in  their  gold.  The  services  of  these  men 
are  as  valuable  as  their  money.  When  the  peo- 
ple of  Paris  found  out  the  merit  of  Baron  Hauss- 
man,they  said:  "If  he  will  make  a  new  city  we 
will  give  him  the  gold;"  and  a  new  $50,000,000 
was  subscribed  toward  the  great  reconstruction. 

Thus  all  over  this  planet,  and  in  all  its  ages, 
the  law  of  devotion  and  intelligent  labor  has  held 
its  sway.     No  person  and  no  State  has  ever  been 


161 

able  to  escape  the  grasp  of  this  law.  Its  meshes 
seem  like  silk,  but  they  are  iron.  Nature  scorns 
and  punishes  all  apathy.  Nothing  has  ever  come 
by  way  of  indifference,  and  so  old  is  the  world 
now  that  we  may  assume  that  no  good  will  ever 
come  by  that  gate.  It  is  indeed  not  a  gate  by 
which  man  comes,  it  is  rather  a  swamp,  a  marsh, 
where  he  sinks. 

Would  that  the  heavy  veil  of  nature  could  be 
lifted  that  we  might  all  see  the  eternal  Father  at 
his  work!  Could  such  a  vision  be  granted  us, 
we  should  see  an  infinite  Mind  acting  into  all  space, 
slighting  nothing,  but  devoted  and  potent  where 
an  ocean  rolled  or  a  lily  bloomed.  In  the  absence 
of  such  a  face-to-face  interview  we  have  to  speak 
of  the  power  of  the  sun  and  tell  each  other  how 
its  heat  made  the  forests  which,  waving  in  the 
air  a  million  years  ago,  are  now  seen  crushed 
into  beds  of  coal,  and  how  that  heat  made  all 
that  life  and  verdure  which  bedeck  our  globe 
to-day.  But  the  sun  explains  nothing.  It  sim- 
ply tells  us  that  there  is  a  mind  somewhere  which 
is  making  the  universe  burst  forth  into  beauty  and 
tremble  into  life.  Could  we  look  back  of  the 
ocean, we  should  see  some  hand  holding  it;  could 


162 

we  gaze  back  of  the  coming  cloud, we  should  see 
some  loving  heart  pouring  out  great  streams  of 
color  in  the  west.  Sublime  and  mysterious  as 
the  universe  is,  one  fact  is  clear — it  is  at  work 
under  the  loving  care  of  somebody.  There  is 
some  angel  painting  the  apple  blossoms,  and  there 
is  some  angel  carrying  perfume  to  the  rose.  The 
man  or  woman  who  is  indifferent  is  already  dead. 
Nature  hates  such  a  loveless  heart. 

As  man  must  bring  his  wisdom  and  devotion 
to  bear  upon  his  city,  state  and  home,  so  must  he 
bring  it  to  bear  upon  his  religion.  The  religion 
which  prevailed  five  hundred  years  ago  may  not 
be  noble  enough  to  meet  the  need  of  the  races 
which  now  live.  Our  times  are  restu dying  all 
the  Christian  and  moral  problems.  It  may  be 
the  past  did  not  bring  out  fully  the  morality  and 
philanthropy  of  Jesus  Christ.  It  may  not  have 
seen  clearly  the  relations  of  religion  to  common 
conduct.  It  may  have  thought  the  earth  to  be 
under  a  curse,  as  were  the  companions  of  Ulysses 
in  the  Island  of  Circe.  We  know  that  each  new 
era  is  born  to  a  new  industry  and  a  new  affection, 
and  that  the  passing  religion  must  catch  some- 
thing of  this  new  toil.     As  man  must  send  art 


163 

onward  more  perfect  than  he  found  it,  so  must 
each  epoch  send  religion  onward  in  garments  more 
beautiful  than  those  in  which  it  came.  Man's 
labors  will  never  end,  not  only  because  the  tasks 
are  each  infinite,  but  also  because  labor  is  always 
an  awakening  of  life.  Labor  is  the  hand  which 
strikes  the  strings  of  the  mental  harp.  Devotion 
is  only  another  name  for  life.  It  is  the  tie  that 
binds  man  to  his  calling.  It  is  the  chain  of  gold 
that  bound  Newton  to  the  stars,  the  chain  which 
bound  Washington  and  Lincoln  to  our  Republic. 
The  relations  of  all  young  minds  to  their 
life  should  be  those  of  laborious  devotion.  It 
should  be  deeply  felt  that  the  sweep  of  years  is 
the  arena  of  a  care  and  a  labor  that  shall  make 
the  natural  marble  show  its  tints,  and  the  crude 
gold  its  purity.  Intemperance,  the  race -track,  and 
each  form  of  vice  and  dishonor,  must  be  discarded 
as  simply  a  quick  ruin ;  and  then  one's  language, 
one's  taste,  education,  breadth,  depth,  kindness, 
and  religion  must  be  made  the  objects  of  an  un- 
changing regard.  Nothing  equals  life  in  the 
power  to  absorb  work  and  devotion.  It  absorbs 
all  and  destroys  nothing.  The  soul  catches  all 
this  attention,  and  runs  with  it  out  into  this  world 


164 

and  into  immortality.      Whoever  cares  little  how 
he  lives  is  already  lost. 

This  is  the  birthday  of  an  American,  who, 
when  a  boy,  began  to  lavish  care  and  labor  upon 
his  visit  to  this  world.  Born  in  a  mental  desert 
he  began  to  reach  out  like  a  palm  tree  toward 
riches,  soil,  and  springs  of  water.  We  can  now 
look  back  and  mark  his  devotions.  He  worshiped 
his  handful  of  books;  he  paid  homage  to  all  the 
greatness  which  had  gone  before  him;  he  made 
reasoning  an  amusement  and  a  pursuit;  each  year 
which  brought  new  blossoms  brought  him  a  new 
survey  of  his  world;  each  yellow  autumn  added 
to  his  pensiveness,  each  spring  reawakened  his 
hope;  the  time  which  slowly  changed  lonely  for- 
ests into  populous  states,  changed  his  young 
thoughts  into  great  principles,  and  by  the  day 
when  middle  life  had  come,  he  stood  up  encom- 
passed by  doctrines  of  right  and  humanity  which 
the  world  now  sees  were  divine. 

He  attempted  to  mingle  reason,  sentiment,  honor, 
justice,  love  and  happiness,  not  only  in  his  own 
spirit,  but  in  the  heart  of  the  world;  and  seldom 
in  human  history  have  so  many  strings  of  the 
soul  sounded  in  such  perfect  harmony.     Never, 


165 

perhaps,  was  a  better  manhood  created  out  of 
such  unpromising  material;  but  this  man  cared 
for  his  life ;  and,  as  the  great  pictures  of  art  carry 
the  labor  of  the  artist,  as  the  column  in  Rosslyn 
Chapel  arose,  carved  in  all  its  extent  by  loving 
care,  this  man  carried  with  him  to  a  noble  grave 
all  the  rich  mental  details  which  could  be  worked 
out  in  a  single  lifetime. 

There  is  one  kind  of  selfishness  that  is  admi- 
rable. It  is  not,  indeed,  a  selfishness,  but  rather 
it  is  a  kindness  to  the  race — that  self-love  which 
leads  the  mind  to  take  care  of  all  its  faculties  and 
its  liberties.  This  care  is  not  an  egotism,  it  is 
only  a  confession  that  the  world  and  its  God  are 
great.  When  man  says,  "  Let  me  see  the  flowers, 
let  me  hear  the  music,"  his  heart  is  full, not  of 
himself,  but  of  the  universe.  All  this  self- 
development  is  a  worship  of  the  empire  which 
encompasses  the  spirit.  All  egotism  is  thus  dis- 
placed by  the  presence  of  the  infinite. 

This  long  argument  over  work,  care  and  devotion 
leads  to  a  conclusion  which  carries  us  beyond  the 
boundary  of  time.  If  man  is  ordered  by  his 
Maker  to  pour  out  care  day  by  day,  and  if  he 
makes  and  occupies  his  years  with  such  devotion, 


166 

it  follows  that  He  who  made  man  is  also  pouring 
out  upon  his  empire  an  attention,  a  love,  a  thought, 
that  are  infinite;  and  that,  if  not  in  these  years, 
then  beyond  the  grave,  all  the  eyes  of  mortals 
that  close  here  will  open  again  upon  a  human 
family  all  worked  up  into  a  perfect  finish  and 
inwrought  with  the  many  images  of  all  virtue  and 
all  happiness. 


IRaMcalism—  IRoot  anfc  Brancb. 

For  behold  the  day  cometh;  it  burneth  as  a  furnace,  and  all 
the  proud  and  all  that  work  wickedness  shall  be  stubble;  the  day 
cometh  that  shall  burn  them  up;  that  shall  leave  them  neither  root 
nor  branch.— Malachi  iv.  1. 

In  one  of  the  reading  books  which  lay  in 
many  homes  and  cabins  when  our  century  was 
young  there  was  a  thrilling  story  called  "  The 
Rising  of  the  Waters."  A  Canadian  gentleman 
had  built  a  little  board  hut  on  the  upper  bank  of 
a  river.  It  was  to  be  the  home  of  himself  and 
two  little  sons  while  some  workmen  were  survey- 
ing some  forests  and  were  felling  some  trees. 
At  daybreak  on  a  summer  morning  a  rain  began 
to  fall.  For  a  time  it  was  a  pleasant  sight.  The 
pattering  on  the  board  roof  was  good  music  to 
be  heard.  As  the  puddles  began  to  form,  the 
delight  of  the  boys  grew  steadily.  When,  hour 
after  hour,  the  darkness  and  downpouring  in- 
creased, and  awful  lightning  and  thunder  began 
to  play  a  frightful  part  in  the  growing  tempest, 
the  boys  grew  silent  and  hid  themselves  under 
the  cloak  of  their  father.  To  this  alarming 
gloom  night  set  in  and  its  terrors,  and,  fed  by  a 
thousand  hill -torrents,  the   river   began  to  roar 

1G7 


168 

and  to  carry  whole  trees  along  as  though  in  wrath. 
Toward  morning  the  woodmen  had  to  leave  all 
their  huts  and  betake  themselves  to  the  hills. 
This  piece  of  prose,  equal  in  power  to  Hugo's 
chapter  on  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  was  called 
"  The  Rising  of  the  Waters,"  and  often  it  comes 
back  to  the  memory  of  those  who  mark  the  slow 
rise  and  advance  of  reform.  First  come  a  few 
rain -drops,  and  after  long  time  the  skies  grow 
darker  and  the  flood  begins  to  roar. 

The  certainty  of  ultimate  victory  keeps  most 
great  hearts  from  despair.  They  do  not  expect 
all  things  to  act  at  once  on  the  line  of  their  wish. 
They  are  capable  of  grasping  long  periods,  and 
of  picturing  a  future,  few  of  whose  beauties  have 
yet  come.  It  is  probable  most  great  reformers 
have  been  men  of  powerful  imagination,  not  of 
that  imagination  which  composes  poems  and 
romances,  but  which  can  detect  a  great  moral 
landscape  lying  beyond  the  actual  scenes  of 
to-day.  We  have  no  right  to  assume  that  the 
poetic  faculty  can  do  nothing  but  make  verses  or 
assist  in  art.  It  is  needed  in  the  daily  life  of 
the  citizen,  for  it  draws  for  him  an  outline  of  the 
rewards  and  works  to  which  his  labors  are  bear- 


169 

ing  his  heart.  Poetry  is  only  one  of  the  forms 
assumed  by  this  mental  quality.  It  has  a  wider 
office — that  of  creator  and  guardian  of  man's 
life  and  man's  world.  It  is  necessary  for  the  av- 
erage man  and  woman  to  be  hopeful,  and  to  plant 
their  hordes  upon  the  gradual  advance  of  intelli- 
gence and  goodness. 

It  is  said  that  our  Legislature  is  drafting  and 
reading  a  law  to  limit  horse-racing  and  betting 
to  sixty  days  in  the  year,  and  those  must  be  days 
in  the  summer.  We  do  not  dare  laugh  at  a  group 
of  philosophers  who  look  upon  gambling  as  a 
wrong  so  great  that  it  ought  to  prevail  only  a 
part  of  the  year,  and  then  only  in  the  summer- 
time. Instead  of  laughing  at  the  Legislature  we 
may  well  rejoice  that  the  feeling  against  the  old 
popular  vice  has  grown  so  large  as  to  become  vis- 
ible— so  large  as  to  extend  its  goodness  toward 
some  months  of  the  twelve. 

In  the  Mosaic  laws  a  man  was  not  to  be 
whipped  beyond  forty  stripes.  The  mercy  of 
that  period  lay  in  limiting  the  blows  which  might 
be  inflicted.  Many  died  from  the  effect  of  the 
forty  blows,  but  more  would  die  if  the  flogging 
champions  could  keep  up  the  lashing  indefinitely. 


170 

A  few  centuries  afterward,  when  Paul  was  living, 
lie  was  beaten  with  forty  stripes  save  one.  Mercy 
had  given  the  lash  another  backset.  It  had  to 
cut  the  flesh  only  thirty-nine  times  at  one  whip- 
ping. But  there  was  no  law  to  prevent  Paul 
from  being  lashed  five  times.  Thus  creeps  the 
progress  of  an  age;  and,if  our  philosophers  per- 
mit gambling  to  reign  and  ruin  for  only  two 
months  of  the  year,  we  must  "  thank  God  and 
take  courage."  The  prize-fight  has  been  forbid- 
den in  all  the  States  where  intelligence  has 
reached  any  degree  of  popularity. 

It  is  a  blessed  day  in  morals  when  men  make 
a  beginning  toward  the  study  of  a  wrong.  It  is 
the  first  suspicion  that  is  so  difficult.  In  1700,  Sir 
Thomas  Brown,  M.  D.,  discussed  the  question 
whether  the  Englishman  should  get  drunk  once 
a  month.  He  gathered  up  the  data  with  all  the 
patience  of  an  astronomer.  He  thought  the  nau- 
sea of  drunkenness  a  medicine  equal  to  calomel 
in  virtue. 

It  was  difficult  for  slavery  to  make  its  first 
appearance  as  a  violation  of  rights.  It  was  seen 
as  a  great  convenience  to  the  white  man,  then  as  a 
necessary  result  of  climate  and  race;  then  it  turned 


171 

into  a  missionary  movement,  and,  at  last,  into  a 
fraud.  The  rising  of  the  waters  became  at  last 
deeply  impressive,  and  the  slave-holders  waded 
out. 

One  of  our  excellent  local  clergymen  preached 
recently  against  such  an  amusement  as  shooting 
birds  for  a  prize.  All  would  have  been  well  had 
not  the  clergyman  entered  into  a  sweet  defense  of 
the  gentlemanly  hunters  who  bring  down  a  few 
birds  for  table  use.  He  rejoiced  in  the  sport  of  dog 
and  gun.  The  sermon  showed  how  difficult  it  is 
for  a  moral  principle  to  make  a  start.  The 
pigeons  which  fall  at  the  shooting  matches  are  all 
sold  for  the  table.  It  remains  for  the  pulpit  to 
prove  that  to  shoot  a  bird  out  in  the  weeds  and 
pond  lilies  is  any  nobler  than  to  rob  it  of  life 
within  the  limits  of  a  city. 

Thus  morality  crawls  along  like  a  wounded 
snake,  and  reduces  the  stripes  inflicted  upon  the 
birds  from  forty  to  thirty- nine.  But  morality 
advances,  although  at  a  snail's  gait.  The  pulpit 
of  Christ  must  stand  upon  the  truth  formulated 
not  long  since,  that  "  the  death  of  an  animal  may 
be  a  necessity,  but  it  can  never  be  an  amusement.'1 
With  this  sentiment  in  the  public  soul,  all  slaugh- 


172 

fcering  of  birds  and  game  will  be  left  to  those  men 
who  are  not  touched  by  any  tenderness  of  heart. 
As  the  whole  thirty-nine  stripes  have  passed  away 
from  the  shoulders  of  our  negroes,  and  from  what 
Saint  Pauls  we  possess,  so  the  day  is  sure  to  come 
when  the  gun  will  give  no  pleasure  to  a  true 
gentleman,  and  he  would  sicken  at  the  thought  of 
killing  the  dove  which  stands  as  an  emblem  of 
the  soul,  and  of  bagging  the  quail  which  sung 
"  Bob  White"  in  the  harvest  field  of  last  summer. 
These  remarks  are  not  those  of  fault  finding. 
We  all  are,  or  all  have  been,  in  the  same  old  bloody 
happiness.  We  all  used  to  shoot,  but  we  should 
all  in  our  later  years  make  a  new  survey  of  our 
old  morals,  and  should  gladly  eliminate  any  lurk- 
ing remnant  of  the  old  savagery.  If  there  are  men 
who  have  not  yet  reached  any  kindness  of  nature, 
men  who  can  kill  a  deer  or  a  fawn  or  a  dove  as 
cheerfully  as  they  would  pick  up  a  ripe  apple 
from  the  ground,  let  those  men  do  the  killing  for 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  It  is  high 
time  for  you  all  to  go  up  a  step  higher  in  your  forms 
of  pleasure.  Heliogabalus  ate  a  plateful  of  night- 
ingale tongues.  The  birds  were  slaughtered 
that  he  might  show  Rome  how  great  a  king  he 


173 

was;  that  his  divine  body  was  superior  to  all  those 
little  angels  which  in  Italy  made  the  plaintive 
midnight  music.  Would  you  not  all  have  said: 
Let  those  birds  live  and  sing  in  the  hedge;  bring 
me  on  a  plate  some  bread  and  honey  from  the 
fields  of  Virgil,  some  ripe  figs  from  the  gardens 
of  the  Caesars. 

In  the  long  course  of  events  it  will  come  to 
pass  that  there  will  be  no  insensate  men  to  act  as 
butchers  for  the  world.  What  then  ?  With  the 
coming  of  that  day  the  eating  of  meat  will  also 
cease.  With  many  thousands  in  our  land  already 
that  form  of  food  has  lost  its  charm.  As  the  last 
thousand  years  have  wrought  great  changes  in 
man's  thoughts  and  being,  so  the  years  to  come 
will  bring  changes  greater  still,  and  it  is  almost 
certain  that  the  far-off  tables  will  groan  with  all 
the  riches  of  the  orchard  and  the  fields.  In  the 
golden  age  man  will  eat  amid  breads,  fruits,  music 
and  flowers.  The  dove,  the  quail,  the  nightin- 
gale will  not  be  there  in  death  to  mar  man's 
sweetness  of  life. 

Much  as  we  admire  the  modern  human  race, 
we  can  not  but  perceive  that  man  stands  here 
to-day  much    encumbered  with   his    inheritance. 


174 

He  eats  meat  because  such  was  the  practice  of 
his  more  savage  ancestors.  Education  is  not 
good  only  as  a  means  of  learning  the  branches 
called  reading,  writing  and  arithmetic.  One  of 
its  greatest  forms  of  usefulness  lies  in  the  fact 
that  it  helps  us  escape  from  our  ancestors.  It  is 
well,  indeed,  that  we  had  ancestors,  and  one  may 
recall  with  gratitude  the  art  and  literature  and 
law  that  came  down  from  antiquity;  but  this 
gratitude  need  not  make  us  forget  that  we  in- 
herited egotism  from  the  classics,  pugilism  from 
the  Spartans,  murder  and  war  from  the  Saxon, 
mendacity  from  the  Arabs,  and  business  habits 
from  the  Pirates.  It  is  one  of  the  holy  offices 
of  education  to  pass  the  modern  mind  through 
a  fire  which  may  burn  out  this  old  dross  and 
send  man  onward  in  a  greater  purity. 

And  some  one  will  say:  Did  not  the  God  of 
nature  command  the  animals  to  feed  upon  each 
other?  The  lion  kills  the  dog;  the  dog  the  rab- 
bit. Yes,  but  the  answer  is:  Man  was  not 
made  to  be  a  brute.  His  problem  is  to  find  how 
far  he  can  drift  away  from  the  brute  forms  of 
life.  An  ancient  discovered  that  the  spirit  of 
the  brute  tendeth  downward,  while  the  spirit  of 


175 

man  tendeth  upward.  Man  must  not  rely  upon 
the  brute  world  for  his  lessons  in  virtue.  He 
must  look  into  his  own  soul  and  evolve  his  career 
from  his  own  time  and  divinity. 

The  last  charge  against  these  humane  and 
spiritual  ideas  is  that  this  teaching  is  all  poetry. 
The  charge  is  true.  It  is  all  poetry  from  first  to 
last.  But  this  also  is  true:  Our  world  is  founded 
upon  poetry.  The  globe  itself  floats  in  a  sea  of 
ether.  As  it  turns  over,  on  one  side  it  sparkles 
like  a  crystal  ball,  on  the  other  side  it  is  dark  in 
shadow.  On  the  brilliant  side  men  work,  on  its 
darkened  side  men  sleep.  While  the  ball  rolls 
it  passes  under  the  poetic  sun,  and  asks  that  orb 
to  make  for  it  a  poetic  spring,  summer  and 
autumn.  Out  of  this  request  came  the  forest, 
the  fields,  the  grains,  and  the  fruits;  and,  after 
years  have  passed  by  in  this  excess  of  beauty', 
man  appears  in  these  woods  and  fields  and  adds 
to  the  sublime  aggregation  that  awful  and  rich 
mystery  of  life  which  no  science  can  describe  and 
no  history  contain.  Out  of  the  beautiful  woods 
and  mountains  of  Judea  comes  a  Christ,  chanting 
a  group  of  beatitudes  which  surpassed  in  sweet- 
ness all  previous  eloquence  and  song.  All  poetry, 


176 

indeed!  but  the  quick  impulse  to  a  new  civili- 
zation. All,  poetic  world!  thy  light  is  composed 
of  a  thousand  colors,  thy  scenes  are  all  a  mys- 
tery, thy  sounds  are  all  music.  Touch  thee 
where  man  may,his  eyes  are  full  of  wonder,  and 
the  greatest  truth  seems  only  the  greatest  dream. 
The  poet  Statius,  whom  Dante  so  loved,  at- 
tempted to  describe  only  one  little  fact  of  the 
human  career,and  he  stood  amazed  by  one  sim- 
ple phenomenon — that  of  sleep.  He  says:  "Sleep 
is  a  hidden  grotto  in  a  dense  woods.  Man  passes 
into  it.  Motionless  figures  stand  all  around  his 
couch.  The  silent  clouds  envelop  it  and  keep 
away  the  roaring  of  the  sea.  The  angel  of 
silence  goes  about  with  folded  wings  and  forbids 
the  winds  to  move  the  branches  rudely.  She 
forbids  the  foliage  to  rustle.  She  softens  the 
distant  thunder.  The  mountain  streams  all  move 
more  silently.  The  god  of  sleep  is  in  the  bower. 
One  hand  is  under  the  hair  of  his  left  temple, 
the  right  hand  falls  and  lets  go  the  horn  which 
it  held  in  the  long  day."  Poetry!  Of  course; 
our  world  is  all  composed  of  poetry,  and  the 
words  "  benevolence,"  "civilization,"  "education," 
are  only  the  names  given  to  man's  best  pictures 


177 

and  his  grandest  song.  Poetry  is  not  the  over- 
statement of  the  truth,  it  is  the  effort  of  the  soul 
to  reach  the  reality.  The  crossing  of  the  Dela- 
ware by  Washington,  the  inauguration  of  Lincoln, 
are  scenes  as  poetic  as  any  in  the  works  of  Milton 
or  Shakespeare.  Into  much  more  of  such  poetry 
our  world  is  hastening.  It  is  carrying  us  all 
with  it  in  its  grand  flight.  Manhood  and  poetry 
are  one  and  the  same. 

Radicalism  is  the  final  philosophy  into  which 
we  must  all  empty  our  hearts.  The  word  is  de- 
rived from  the  Latin  term  for  the  root  of  a  plant 
or  tree.  The  farmer  and  gardener  know  that  of 
many  noxious  plants  it  is  a  waste  of  labor  simply 
to  mow  off  the  tops.  They  must  be  taken  out 
by  the  roots.  This  is  radicalism.  A  legislature 
may  temporize  and  may  take  away  one  stripe  and 
leave  thirty-nine  to  cut  into  the  shoulders  of  a  saint, 
or  it  may  make  a  part  of  the  year  free  from  the 
gambler's  art;  but  the  individual  citizen  need  not 
wear  a  legislature  about  his  neck,  nor  a  city 
council.  Burdened  by  such  mill-stones  he  can 
not  do  otherwise  than  sink.  He  must  within  his 
own  soul  be  a  radical  and  make  his  whole  year 
poetic.     He  must  follow  a  divine  dream  all  day 


178 

and  all  night.  It  is  much  to  man's  honor  to  be 
up  with  his  age,  but  it  is  more  to  his  fame  to  be  in 
advance  of  it.  To  be  behind  the  age  is  infamous. 
That  is  the  perfection  of  barbarism.  If  our  State 
feels  that  gambling  ought  to  cease  a  part  of  the 
year,  it  is  well  to  keep  up  with  the  State;  to  fall 
below  such  a  State  would  be  a  moral  calamity. 
In  going  below  the  State  one  might  find  himself 
in  an  unhappy  country. 

In  our  age  and  in  all  times  the  most  beautiful 
of  all  things  is  the  individual.  Our  age  ought  to 
excel  the  entire  past  in  the  creation  of  the  noble 
individual.  Education,  climate,  industry,  and 
freedom  are  his  to  be  used  and  enjoyed.  He 
need  not  wear  any  chain  upon  his  spirit,  except 
that  gold  fetter  which  God  fastens  to  every  wrist. 
We  may  be,  indeed,  helped  by  a  party  in  politics, 
or  by  a  church  in  religion,  but  we  must  not  be 
fettered  by  such  organisms.  It  used  to  be  said 
that  a  party  has  no  soul.  Each  party  has  a  soul, 
but  that  soul  is  not  as  sensitive  and  noble  as  that 
heart  possible  to  the  individual.  The  soul  of  a 
party  is  always  diluted  in  intellect  and  sentiment. 
In  forming  our  government  there  was  a  difficulty 
in  finding    any  principles  that   would  suit  the 


179 

whole  thirteen  colonies.  It  was  easy  to  find  the 
great  soul  of  a  Washington  or  a  John  Adams,  but 
it  was  difficult  to  find  the  soul  of  the  whole  thir- 
teen colonies  from  Boston  to  Charleston  and 
Richmond.  When  a  half-score  of  artists  differ 
as  to  the  color  which  should  cover  a  wall  or  a 
ceiling,  at  last  they  all  agree  on  a  tint.  Thus  all 
the  old  piirties,  unable  to  be  adorned  by  a  com- 
plete soul,  are  often  seen  to  wear  a  mental  tint. 
In  the  great  Middle  States  when  the  hard  maple 
trees  had  not  fallen  victims  to  the  all- destroying 
ax,  the  farmer  and  his  sons  were  wont  to  count 
much  on  the  sugar  and  nectar  they  would  extract 
from  the  trees  in  the  days  between  winter  and 
spring.  But  often  when  the  bright  sunny  morn- 
ing had  contributed  a  pint  of  sweet  sap  to  each 
crock  and  trough  and  bucket,  a  shower  of  rain 
would  fall  and  till  the  vessels  to  the  brim.  With 
sad  faces  the  family  would  go  out  after  the  shower 
to  taste  the  contents  of  the  trough  or  bucket,  to 
learn  whether  they  would  better  attempt  to  boil 
down  the  compound  or  throw  it  all  out.  Thus 
the  little  soul  a  party  possesses  soon  becomes  so 
weakened  by  successive  dilutions  that  the  whole 
compound  should  be  emptied  out.     The  attenu- 


180 

ation  has  become  infinite.  The  individual  must 
make  his  escape  and  study  truth  once  more  in 
root  and  branch. 

The  one  great  hope  of  our  times  lies  in  the 
advance  of  the  individual.  These  isolated  minds 
are  unencumbered;  they  are  so  light-armed  that 
they  can  soonest  reach  a  height.  On  a  certain 
night  in  Greek  history  it  was  necessary  for  the 
army  in  a  hostile  land  to  pass  through  a  long 
ravine.  Woe  to  the  troops  if  the  enemy  should 
be  on  the  crags  above!  The  Greek  captain  sent 
far  in  advance  some  of  the  light-armed  soldiers, 
and  these  had  soon  preoccupied  all  those  heights. 
Thus  in  our  day  of  trial  and  great  danger  there 
must  spring  forward  the  unencumbered  indi- 
viduals who  can  outrun  the  heavy  crowd  and  hold 
all  the  moral  heights. 

After  these  advanced  individuals  have  multi- 
plied in  number  and  have  grown  in  courage, they 
create  a  new  party  in  Church  or  State.  The 
party  will,  in  morals,  be  less,  indeed,  than  they, 
but  its  merit  will  be  of  a  deeper  tint.  Having 
issued  from  many  individuals  of  marked  good, 
the  new  party  will  be  like  a  national  currency 
from  which  the  state  has  taken  away  more   of 


181 

rags  and  silver  and  into  which  it  has  poured  more 
of  gold.  Thus  each  free  and  lofty  individual  is 
the  poem  of  his  day;  not  running  in  advance  of 
its  truth,  but  only  in  advance  of  its  stupor  and 
its  vice.  Being  free  of  foot,  he  has  outrun  his 
creeping  race.  The  individual  must  wear  but 
loosely  all  party  ties.  It  is  said  that  many  men 
drink  because  they  dislike  to  be  so  unsocial  as  to 
decline  to  touch  glasses  with  a  friend.  Singular 
age,  in  which  a  man  will  become  a  drunkard  by 
general  request !  Often  a  political  party  is  only 
a  request  which  has  become  so  swollen  with  office 
conceit  and  vice  that  it  orders  the  weak  minds 
around  like  a  heartless  tyrant.  It  charms  like  a 
serpent;  "it  stings  at  last  like  an  adder. ^ 
Against  it  the  isolated  individuals  must  arise  as 
against  a  foe  to  all  that  is  good  ivpon  earth. 

All  good  begins  in  some  one  individual.  Many 
persons  were  wont  to  gaze  at  the  stars,  but  forth 
came  the  one  Galileo.  Each  cause,  each  science, 
each  reform,  starts  in  some  solitude,  and  then 
gradually  expands  toward  society.  Galileo  must 
have  been  thankful  for  his  first  friend.  Over  his 
grave  now  the  human  race  bows  in  friendship. 
Thus  individualism  is  the   fountain  of  the  river. 


182 

Radicalism  is  the  gate  througli  which  the  indi- 
viduals all  come.  In  its  good  meaning  it  is 
infinite  goodness  and  happiness — the  place  where 
wrongs  are  torn  out  by  the  roots.  It  is  the  line 
where  earth  joins  Paradise. 

One  cause  of  our  city's  unrest  lies  in  the  fact 
that  so  many  individuals  have  been  reared  who 
can  now  feel  deeply  its  vices  and  follies.  Thus 
far  the  children  of  degradation  and  wrong  can 
outvote  the  men  of  the  new  era.  Not  a  few 
whose  minds  and  hearts  are  in  the  new,  are 
standing  with  their  feet  mired  in  the  political 
mud  of  the  past.  There  are  thousands  of  others 
whose  virtues  are  not  a  positive  color,  only  a  tint. 
We  must  wait  until  the  individuals  shall  have 
become  more  numerous  and  more  intense.  The 
radicals  must  never  be  disheartened,  for  if  they 
can  not  shape  the  world  external  they  can  enjoy 
that  world  that  is  in  their  own  thought  and  prac- 
tice. If  the  individual  can  not  close  the  saloons, 
he  can  have  the  happiness  of  saying:  "I  do  not 
drink.1'  If  the  law  permits  thirty-nine  stripes,he 
can  say:  "  I  abolish  them  all,  both  as  to  man  and 
beast."  Thus,  while  the  world  is  creeping  toward  a 
better  condition,  the  individual  can  fly  to  it  on 
dove's  winces.     While  the  church  is  full  of  false 


183 

doctrines,  he  can,  simply  by  shutting  his  eyes  in 
some  solitude,  be  instantly  with  God;  and  while 
the  earth,  all  in  all,  is  black  with  its  vices,  he  can 
breathe  the  aroma  of  the  better  land.  Inasmuch 
as  the  individual,  having  only  a  few  years,  can 
not  wait  for  the  world  to  become  humane  and 
just,  he  must  adorn  his  own  days  with  those  vir- 
tues, and  thus  create  his  own  beautiful  civiliza- 
tion, just  as  the  traveler  at  twilight  enjoys  his 
own  song.  As  the  world  will  not  die  with  you, 
it  must  not  live  with  you.  It  moves  too  slowly; 
you  must  hasten,  for  your  time  is  short.  You 
are  light  armed.  You  can  climb  the  mountain 
and  see  the  morning  while  the  valley  is  still  dark. 
The  Christian  Church  is  fortunate  in  the  fact 
that  it  stands  attached  to  a  person  whose  radical- 
ism attacks  vice  and  wrong  in  root  and  branch. 
In  Jesus  of  Nazareth  all  wrong  dies  and  all  love 
lives.  In  him  tears  cease.  There  politics  turns 
into  poetry,  as  life  turns  into  immortality.  But 
the  Church  could  carry  only  a  little  of  him, 
because  a  party  can  not  carry  a  deeply- colored 
virtue,  but  only  a  tint.  But  there  stands  the 
Christ  perpetually,  and  the  society  which  once 
came  from  him,  bringing  thirty-nine  stripes,  soon 
went  back  to  him,  and  returned  with  thirty-eight. 


184 

Thus  it  went  and  came,  until  the  stripes  were  all 
gone  from  Paul's  shoulders.  It  came  away  from 
the  Master  once  with  a  contempt  for  the  black 
man.  It  kept  going  and  coming  until  the  black 
man  was  free.  It  once  was  but  a  little  kind  to 
the  children ;  it  went  back  to  its  origin  until  at 
last  it  took  all  the  little  children  into  its  arms  and 
joined  the  Master  in  the  words,  "of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  Thus,  under  the  repeated 
touches  of  Nazareth  all  poisonous  plants  die,  root 
and  branch. 

This  moral  scene  resembles  that  story  about 
the  "rising  of  the  waters,"  only  it  reverses  the 
feelings  of  the  heart.  In  that  night  in  old  Canada 
the  waters  silently  rose  to  man's  alarm  and  danger, 
but  in  civilization  this  flood  rises  to  man's  joy. 
All  good  and  true  hearts  exult  in  the  long  moral 
storm.  As  we  lie  on  our  pillow  at  night,  we  wish 
the  rain  drops  would  grow  in  size  and  number. 
The  fainting  heart  needs  the  help  of  the  tempest. 
The  river  which  creeps  onward  hour  by  hour  is 
the  stream  of  human  happiness.  The  lightning 
is  welcome,  the  rolling  thunder  is  music.  The 
father  and  the  two  sons  need  not  fly  in  terror  from 
these  waters.  All  human  feet  should  hasten  to 
touch  this  healing,  peaceful  wave. 


"£be  (Sentleman  of  tbe  IRcw  Scbool, 
IRutberfort  B.  Ibasee." 

The  wisdom  that  is  from  above  is  first  pure,  then  peaceable, 
gentle,  easy  to  be  entreated,  full  of  mercy  and  good  fruits,  without 
changes  and  without  hypocrisy. — James  iii.  17. 

The  gentleman  of  the  old  school  no  longer 
proves  satisfactory;  his  place  will  soon  be  tilled 
by  a  man  of  the  new  school.  The  word  "gentle" 
has  added  much  to  its  import  since  it  came  into 
duty  in  the  Latin  times.  The  word  gcniilis  then 
stood  for  the  best  kind  of  manhood  of  that  period, 
but  then  the  best  manhood  was  often  very 
poor.  In  almost  all  times  and  places  before  the 
Unites  States  came  into  being  the  most  of  oppor- 
tunity for  education,  culture,  and  politeness  lay  in 
the  family.  The  family  implied  the  school -house, 
the  best  manners,  and  the  highest  religion.  All 
the  commonest  people  and  the  enormous  multitude 
of  slaves  were  outside  of  refining  influences.  To 
belong  to  a  gens,  a  group  of  families,  was  to  have 
more  advantages  than  a  slave  could  enjoy.  To 
be  attached  to  the  family  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  or 
Jacob,  was  in  the  old  Hebrew  world  more  than 
equal  to  having  in  our  day  a  diploma  from  Oxford 

185 


186 

or  Cambridge.  So  in  the  Latin  times  it  was  a 
great  advantage  to  be  born  a  member  of  some 
Tarquinia  gens  or  Claudia  gens,  or  Julia  gens.  It 
was  much  like  saying  in  our  day,  "He  is  an 
alumnus    of  Yale  or  Princeton.1' 

Such  membership  in  early  or  late  times  has 
never  made  the  worth  of  the  members  absolutely 
certain,  but  it  has  always  made  it  probable  that 
the  person  thus  related  was  superior  to  the 
wild  man  of  the  woods.  Cicero  defined  the 
gentilis  man  as  "one  belonging  to  a  family 
which  had  never  been  in  slavery,  and  which 
had  received  no  injury  from  its  remote  ancestry.'" 
The  presumption  followed  that  education  and 
good  manners  had  run  along  in  the  channel  in 
which  the  family  had  flowed. 

The  family  power  and  fame  reached  a  won- 
derful dominance  in  the  Roman  period,  and  it 
reappeared  in  Europe  after  the  disintegration  of 
the  Roman  Empire.  All  the  old  castles  in  Eu- 
rope and  England  tell  us  how  the  family  or  the 
gens  went  onward,  carrying  what  there  was  of 
literature,  education,  reason,  and  good  manners. 
The  massive  walls,  the  moat,  the  drawbridge, 
bear  witness   to  the   efforts  of  old   ancestors   to 


187 

escape  overthrow  and  subjection.  In  Dante's 
day  this  war  of  families  was  still  raging,  and 
was  busy  in  making  war,  confiscating  old  castles 
and  ordering  enemies  into  exile.  A  gens  man 
in  those  years  was  not  much  like  the  gentle- 
man of  modern  times,  for  the  world  has  since 
become  spiritualized,  and  now  the  gentleman 
has  actually  the  many  virtues  in  the  large  which 
once  were  admired  even  in  the  small.  In  Eng- 
land the  word  remains  much  as  it  stood  in  the 
times  of  Cicero,  and  a  drunkard  or  a  glutton  or 
a  gambler  may  be  a  gentleman,  because  he  may 
be  a  member  of  a  high  gens,  and  not  be  a  man 
whose  ancestors  lived  by  hard  toil  or  were  men 
of  the  woods  or  slaves  of  .a  lord. 

In  our  republic  the  term  has  been  spiritual- 
ized, and  now  the  word  gentleman  means  one 
who  acts  as  though  his  family  had  been  noble 
for  a  thousand  years;  he  acts  as  though  long 
time  had  emptied  its  experience  and  goodness 
into  his  heart.  He  is  the  son  of  many  a  noble 
race  which  has  acted  nobly.  As  Jesus  was  called 
the  Son  of  Man  because  he  stood  for  the  ideal 
youth  of  our  world,  a  son  because  he  held  the 
power,    the    enthusiasm,    the   righteousness,  the 


188 

kindness,  which  attach  to  the  ideal  manhood,  so 
the  modern  gentleman  is  that  ideal  soul  which 
seems  in  Cresar's  day  to  have  absorbed  all  the 
good  from  the  Julia  gens,  and  from  the  Fabia 
gens  of  earlier  days,  and  to  have  stolen  rich 
colors  from  the  Capulets  and  Durantes  which 
gave  the  world  its  Dante,  and  to  have  passed 
through  the  castles  of  Germany  and  England 
only  to  extract  the  virtues  which  bloomed  within 
those  walls.  He  did  not  pause  amid  those  high 
opportunities  that  he  might  emerge  a  rake  or  an 
idler,  great  in  the  fox  chase  and  in  vice,  but  that 
he  might  gather  up  all  the  qualities  which  make 
a  perpetual  goodness  and  a  perpetual  beauty.  Of 
such  souls  our  age  can  now  show  a  large  number, 
because  a  republic  is  a  field  favorable  for  their 
growth.  An  enlightened  republic  is  a  kind  of 
nation  favorable  to  the  production  of  gentlemen. 
But  it  must  also  be  said  that  the  Western  mon- 
archies have  become  so  similar  to  republics  that 
they,  too,  can  grow  a  kind  of  soul  not  easily 
possible  in  the  older  times. 

A  republic  is  made  the  better  soil  for  this 
form  of  manhood,  because  no  soul  can  be  ideal 
unless    it   grasps    the   rights   of    all    humanity. 


181) 

Many  of  the  so -named  gentlemen  of  the  old 
school  were  such  only  by  comparison.  They 
showed  a  little  white,  but  only  on  a  very  black 
background.  When  the  wife  had  to  keep  silent, 
and  at  times  was  the  recipient  of  a  blow  or  a 
kick,  when  a  serf  was  soundly  flogged  at  the 
caprice  of  the  master,  when  war  was  a  regular 
pursuit,  then  the  term  gentleman  possessed  no 
deep  spiritual  import,  for  that  import  is  impossi- 
ble where  there  is  no  tender  appreciation  of 
human  rights.  Cicero  loved  his  daughter  ten- 
derly, but  his  wife  had  no  rights  that  he  felt 
bound  to  respect.  Dante  was  an  intense  friend 
to  his  friends,  but  he  was  bitter  toward  political 
opponents.  Shakespeare  gathered  up  all  kinds 
of  conspicuous  personages  which  had  run  across 
the  world  between  Caesar  and  Henry  VIII,  but 
he  did  not  make  the  perfect  gentleman  conspicu- 
ous in  his  drama.  Shakespeare  was  a  central 
point  in  which  all  paths  met,  and  if  the  path  of 
gentility  is  not  seen  on  this  Shakespearean  map  it 
is  because  it  had  not  yet  been  opened  up  through 
the  woods.  In  those  plays  the  perfect  gentleman 
was  almost  as  rare  as  was  a  steamboat  upon  the 
Thames. 


190 

The  human  race  has  been  unfortunate,  not 
only  in  its  efforts  to  create  a  noble  manhood,  but 
also  in  its  efforts  to  keep  what  it  has  gained. 

By  the  time  the  Greeks  have  reached  some 
moral  worth,  like  that  found  in  the  characters 
of  the  Platonic  school,  the  Persians  are  seen  on 
the  border,  ready  to  trample  the  Greek  flowers 
under  foot;  by  the  time  Rome  has  become  able 
to  point  to  a  Pliny  and  a  Tacitus,  the  northern 
barbarians  are  beginning  to  move  southward  to 
trample  all  the  Latin  pearls  into  the  mire.  In  the 
meantime  the  savages  are  overthrowing  in  Britain 
the  civilization  begun  by  the  enlightened  Julius 
Caesar.  Not  only  was  the  progress  of  the  higher 
manhood  arrested,  but  the  old  grand  languages 
were  broken  up  into  wretched  dialects,  which  had 
to  be  made  into  the  new  tongues  or  jargons  which 
are  now  spoken  in  Europe.  To  find  a  good  has 
been  in  all  times  difficult,  to  retain  a  good,  a  task 
equally  arduous. 

The  coming  of  the  actual  manhood  could  not 
but  wait  for  the  advent  of  human  rights.  There 
must  always  be  a  wide  intelligence  before  there 
can  be  a  noble  character.  The  mind  must  be 
able  to  make  a  survey  of  the  world,  and  see  the 


191 

whole  net- work  of  human  rights.  It  is  not  essen- 
tial that  a  gentleman  be  a  good  judge  of  art  and 
music.  He  may  be  color-blind,  and  in  an  art 
gallery  mistake  "The  Autumn  on  the  Hudson" 
for  "The  Springtime  in  England;"  he  may  be 
tone-deaf  and  not  know  "  Home,  Sweet  Home," 
from  the  "Marseillaise,"  but  his  intelligence  of 
men  must  be  broad,  and  his  feelings  kind  in  an 
infinite  degree. 

The  present  Emperor  of  Russia  is,  perhaps,  a 
sincere  man,  but  his  sincerity  does  not  aid  him  in 
this  contest  for  the  fame  of  gentility.  He  has 
not  moved  in  the  high  families  of  the  human 
race  and  garnered  up  the  splendors  of  the  widely 
scattered  gcnies.  He  has  not  come  through  all 
the  Athenses  and  Florences  and  Londons  and 
Americas.  He  came  to  his  throne  by  way  of 
fanaticism.  He  felt  called  by  God.  He  perse- 
cuted Baptists,  Catholics,  Stundists,  and  Jews, 
because  God  wishes  them  put  out  of  the  way  of 
the  true  church.  It  is  said  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  Emperor.  He  lamented  that  he  had  to  be 
Emperor.  He  would  have  declined  the  crown 
had  not  his  spiritual  advisers  made  him  believe 
that  God  had  called  him  to  take  tender  care  of 


192 

the  Greek  Church.  Out  of  this  one  mental  cloud 
come  all  the  cruelties  which  so  disgrace  the  Rus- 
sian dominions.  Alexander  III  thus  stands  not 
a  gentleman  loved  the  world  over,  hut  a  character 
torn  and  shattered  like  a  tree  riven  by  lightning. 
He  wants  to  be  a  noble  man,  but  no  wide  study 
of  human  rights  draws  for  him  an  ideal;  the 
path  thitherward  does  not  run  near  his  palace. 

If  we  compare  with  that  King  of  the  North 
the  ex-President  who,  a  few  days  ago,  passed  from 
this  country,  we  shall  see  at  once  how  the  teach- 
ings of  our  land  help  the  mind  toward  an  actual 
gentility.  To  a  taste  for  all  art,  all  education, 
Mr.  Hayes  added  a  most  delicate  sense  of  human 
rights.  Intelligence  as  to  where  justice  lay,  and 
then  a  tender  love  for  that  justice,  helped  him  to 
reach  long  ago  the  spiritual  import  of  the  word 
gentility.  When  a  perfumed  air  drifts  over  a 
southern  road  along  which  the  traveler  rides  at 
nightfall,  he  does  not  know  from  what  special 
flowers  the  odor  comes.  It  may  be  many  a  variety 
of  flowers  has  combined  with  the  grasses  and  with 
the  forests  of  gloomy  pines  in  making  the  over- 
hanging world  all  fragrant.  It  may  be  the  far- 
off  ocean  poured  the  first  ingredient  into  the  cup, 


193 

and  then  passed  the  compound  onward  to  receive 
other  forms  of  sweetness  from  all  the  scattered 
chemists  of  Nature.  Thus  in  the  formation  of  a 
heart  like  that  of  Mr.  Hayes  many  elements  were 
poured  in  by  many  hands.  We  can  not  name 
them,  nor  count  them,  but  chief  among  these 
fashioners  of  the  soul  must  be  reckoned  that  jus- 
tice which  does  the  right  by  each  form  of  life. 

Without  this  sensibility  of  rights,  the  true  gen- 
tleman is  impossible.  Calvin  may  have  desired 
to  do  his  duty;  such  may  have  been  the  wish  of 
many  a  Roman  Catholic  persecutor;  such  may  be 
the  wish  of  Alexander  III,  but  all  these  desires 
are  inadequate.  Gentility  comes,  not  when  a  man 
desires  to  do  his  duty,  but  when  he  also  knows 
what  his  duty  is.  It  is  a  beautiful  combination 
of  intellect  and  heart. 

No  sooner  had  ex-President  Hayes  died  than 
Southern  men  met  in  council  and  hastened  to  con- 
fess that  the  ruler  of  the  North  had  always  done 
the  best  possible  by  the  men  and  the  homes  of 
the  South.  He  had  not  only  cherished  good  de- 
sires, but  he  had  so  studied  the  world,  so  thought, 
that  his  desires  were  not  made  bloody  by  fanati- 
cism, but  they  were  made  beautiful  by  intelli- 
gence. 


194 

As  soon  as  this  citizen  had  been  relieved  from 
his  duties  as  President,  he  accepted  places  of  duty, 
but  only  of  that  duty  which  pertained  to  the  bet- 
terment of  human  conditions.  Great  educational 
movements  and  great  humane  movements  called 
him  to  new  tasks,  and  he  always  accepted  the 
calls.  His  life  began  well;  it  continued  as  it  be- 
gan; it  ran  evenly  to  the  end.  It  was  free  from 
fanaticism,  from  indifference;  free  from  the  ego- 
tism which  loses  the  public  in  the  universe  of  one's 
self;  full  of  sympathy  with  the  many-sided  prog- 
ress of  mankind. 

An  approach  to  such  a  character  has  always 
been  possible,  but  it  was  easy  for  John  Milton 
and  Lord  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  to  come  short 
of  it,  because  they  were  encompassed  by  all  the 
hardness  of  a  despotism.  An  enlightened  repub- 
lic makes  the  character  more  attainable,  because 
a  republic  is  founded  upon  the  nobility  of  man, 
woman  and  child.  In  this  republic  there  is  im- 
mense respect  shown  to  woman,  because  that 
study  of  rights  which  has  been  preserved  here 
for  a  hundred  years  has  created  a  taste  for  all 
the  equities  of  social  life.  It  would  be  a  misfort- 
une if  study  could  develop  a  taste  for  literature 


195 

and  pictures  and  music,  and  could  not  enlarge 
the  taste  for  the  equities  of  society.  That  cen- 
tury which  has  led  our  people  along  in  many  of 
the  common  forms  of  taste  has  led  them  forward 
in  their  sense  of  human  rights,  and  has  turned 
many  a  man  from  the  pain  of  being  an  animal 
into  the  happiness  of  being  a  gentleman. 

And  beyond  a  doubt  the  same  republic,  work- 
ing in  its  second  century,  will  create  an  army  of 
gentlemen  greater  than  all  the  standing  armies  of 
Europe.  In  that  far-off  day  when  these  charac- 
ters shall  throng  the  Legislatures  and  fill  Presi- 
dential chairs  and  assemble  in  Parliaments  and  sit 
down  upon  thrones,  the  standing  armies  of  the 
world  will  be  .dissolved. 

When  we  were  all  young  and  at  school  the 
dear  teachers  were  wont  to  tell  us  that  a  gentle- 
man was  a  youth  or  a  man  who  walked  softly 
and  who  shut  a  door  without  making  a  noise.  He 
was  gentle  like  a  dove.  The  inference  drawn 
was  in  favor  of  a  nature  not  very  far  removed 
from  ordinary  stupidity.  The  definition  was  true 
as  far  as  it  went,  but  it  did  not  go  very  far— not 
more  than  one  step  in  the  long  way  of  man's  be- 
ing.    Man's  footstep  on    a   floor  is  of  no  conse- 


19(3 

quence  when  compared  with  his  footsteps  among 
men.  If  the  Russian  Czar  would  only  walk  softly 
among  the. rights  of  the  Jews  and  Stundists;  if  he 
would  only  not  shut  all  the  doors  of  liberty  and 
hope,  what  a  gentle  soul  he  would  indeed  become! 
Gentle!  not  like  a  harmless  dove,  which  can  wing 
the  air  like  an  arrow,  but  gentle  like  an  intellect 
which  has  flown  through  all  the  great  homes  of 
earth  and  has  extracted  from  all  the  great  fam- 
ilies their  wisdom  and  their  goodness. 

All  terms  are  elastic.  The  word  Christian  is 
often  used  to  distinguish  an  Englishman  from  a 
Mohammedan  or  an  American  from  a  Turk,  but 
the  word  Christian  is  not  thus  exhausted.  It 
moves  on  until  it  may  describe  for  us  the  fervor 
of  John  Bunyan  or  the  peace  of  Mme.  Guyon. 

So  the  word  scholar  may  apply  to  a  hundred 
shades  of  attainment  between  that  of  a  common 
schoolmaster  and  that  of  the  two  Scaligers. 
When  the  younger  Scaliger  was  only  eighteen  he 
knew  several  languages,  and  was  soon  called  "The 
Colossus  of  Learning.'"  Thus  all  great  terms 
will  hold  little  or  will  hold  much.  As  the  Nile 
river  runs  low  or  runs  high,  so  great  words  run 
feebly  or  run  full.     Among  these  terms   which 


197 

are  subject  to  such  vicissitudes  must  be  placed 
the  word  "  gentleman, "  it  being,  indeed,  appli- 
cable when  a  man  speaks  in  a  low  tone  and 
respects  the  laws  of  the  drawing-room  and  all 
social  laws,  and  applicable  also  when  a  mind 
studies  the  happiness  of  mankind,  and  when  the 
heart  feels  as  though  it  were  a  loving  mother  of 
the  human  race.  If  we  ponder  over  things,  we 
can  not  but  conclude  that  the  Nile  of  gentility 
has  not  enjoyed  its  great  June  rise,  that  flood 
which  shall  pour  untold  wealth  into  the  valley  of 
mankind.  We  hope  the  rain  is  now  falling  in 
the  mountains  which  will  make  this  rich  inunda- 
tion. 

Our  Western  race  seems  to  have  come  to  an 
era  of  enlarged  terms.  All  the  cardinal  nouns 
and  verbs  of  our  language  are  swelling  like  the 
lily -buds  in  spring. 

The  word  "liberty"  has  opened  so  as  to  admit 
all  complexions  and  conditions;  the  word  "  relig- 
ion11 has  expanded  so  as  to  admit  millions  once 
shut  out  from  the  arena  of  love;  "power1'  has 
expanded  so  as  to  add  the  steamships  to  the  oar 
of  the  galley  slave;  the  word  "benevolence11  has 
•expanded  until  it  implies  good  will   everywhere 


198 

and  forever.  Into  this  transmuting  and  purifying 
age  the  word  "  gentleman  "  has  been  tossed,  and 
soon  it  will  not  mean  a  man  who  could  ride  well 
after  the  hounds  in  old  Virginia  or  in  merry 
England,  or  could  write  a  love  letter  in  the  style 
of  Addison  or  Cicero,  nor  will  it  stand  for  a 
modern  graduate  who  can  handle  an  oar  or  a  bat 
like  a  Greek  athlete,  but  it  will  burst  its  old  con- 
fines and  mean  a  perfect  body  occupied  in  each 
drop  of  blood  by  a  great  and  beautiful  intellect. 
Is  this  to  expect  too  much  of  our  race  ?  The  drift 
of  all  things  compels  us  to  see  a  great  future  for 
man.  The  advent  and  reign  of  a  new  manhood 
is  not  only  possible,  but  it  is  near. 

Whoever  recalls  the  whole  life  of  ex -President 
Hayes,  sees  the  lad  in  his  first  years,  sees  him  at  col- 
lege, sees  him  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  in  schools 
of  the  law,  sees  him  afterward  at  home,  as  perfect 
there  as  any  domestic  picture  earth  can  show,  sees 
him  in  power  and  afterward  in  private  life,can  not 
but  feel  that  it  is  not  difficult  to  be  a  gentleman. 

It  is  only  to  run  in  one  of  those  ways  of  wis- 
dom which  are  full  of  pleasantries  and  peace. 
Our  literature  helps  point  out  the  new  path,  our 
art  helps,  our  religion  helps  with  its  tender  love, 


199 

our  Nation  helps  with  the  eloquence  of  its  great 
ideas.  If  mental  and  moral  progress  moves  on 
through  the  next  century,  persons  then  living  will 
possess  and  behold  a  more  delicate  and  more 
widely  spread  nobleness  that  can  be  seen  in  these 
times;  for  although  our  earth  and  our  race  are 
old,  a  high  nobleness  is  yet  young.  If  so  beauti- 
ful in  youth,  what  will  this  gentility  be  in  the 
high  noon  of  its  career  ? 

Inasmuch  as  public  men  are  the  lawful  themes 
of  remark  and  the  lawful  objects  of  study,  it  is 
not  necessary  for  us  to  close  our  eyes  to  the  high 
nature  of  that  resolve  which  led  the  President- 
elect to  make  a  long  journey  that  he  might  stand 
by  the  fresh  grave  of  a  faithful  servant  of  the 
nation,  and  might  help  lament  that  goodness, 
however  marked,  is  always  moving  toward  the 
tomb.  To  the  call  of  friendship,  the  call  of 
humanity  was  added.  A  sensitive  ear  could  not 
easily  be  deaf  to  such  a  pathetic  invitation.  In 
the  Florence  of  Angelo's  time  all  men  paused  a 
moment  on  the  street  when  a  funeral  cortege  was 
passing.  Death  was  greater  than  business  or 
pleasure.  It  was  the  king  whom  all  must  salute. 
When  the  President-elect  journeyed  across  states, 


200 

when  lie  commanded  all  the  work  around  him  to 
hush  while  the  coffin  of  a  public  man  was  being 
borne  toward  its  place  in  the  snow  and  grass,  he 
acted  within  the  borders  of  that  high  gentility 
which  long,  long  ago  began  to  draw  its  richly 
colored  line  between  the  refined  citizen  and  the 
barbarian. 

Few  are  the  young  men  who  yet  realize  what 
a  power  and  what  a  happiness  are  contained  in 
the  simplest  ideal,  manhood.  The  reason  of  man's 
being  is  sought  in  wealth  or  in  notoriety  or  in 
what  is  called  by  the  fascinating  name  of  pleas- 
ure. But  it  is  quite  certain  that  those  reasons  of 
existence  are  poor  when  compared  with  the  pos- 
session of  a  character  which  is  beautiful  to  have 
and  to  reveal,  and  which  is  an  ample  passport 
to  the  world  on  either  side  of  the  grave.  Not 
many  can  be  poets,  not  many  can  be  orators,  but 
millions  can  have  what  poetry  and  eloquence  can 
only  express.  After  an  orator  has  expressed  the 
genius  of  a  country,  others  must  come  to  live  and 
act  the  nation's  life.  Orators,  therefore,  need  not 
be  numerous.  One  man  can  utter  a  sentiment, 
but  it  is  worthless  until  the  millions  have  planted 
it  in  their  hearts.     The  Scottish  chief  blew  his 


201 

liorn  in  the  mountains,  and  then  out  of  every 
ravine  and  thicket  and  cave  came  the  brave 
soldiers  of  Wallace  and  Bruce.  How  empty  the 
bugle-call,  were  there  no  rush  of  troops!  How 
empty  the  oratory  of  a  nation,  if  there  is  no  rush 
of  men  to  obey  its  high  mandates!  The  men 
who  utter  eloquence  must  divide  honors  with  the 
men  who  obey  it.  What  our  age  needs  is  not  that 
each  public  man  be  an  orator,  but  that  the  state,  the 
city,  the  church,  the  home,  shall  contain  the  men 
who  are  living  a  life  befitting  so  advanced  a  period. 
The  New  Testament  writer  known  as  St.  James 
could  delineate  a  high  manhood.  It  was  "  pure, 
peaceable,  gentle,  full  of  mercy,  not  fickle  nor 
false.'1  But,  after  a  few  years  had  passed,  none 
came  to  live  the  higher  life.  The  savages  rolled 
down  upon  the  cultivated  races,  and  when  Chris- 
tians and  Romans  emerged  from  the  ruins,  they, 
too,  had  lost  the  moral  worth  of  St.  James,  and 
of  that  One  who  had  created  and  inspired  a  group 
of  saints.  In  the  late  years  of  our  nation  so 
many  noble  men  have  lived  and  gone  down  into 
noble  graves,  gone  in  such  a  richness  of  character, 
that  the  heart  may  well  hope  that  an  age  of  a 
high  humanity  is  about  to  come.     The  remein- 


202 

brance  of  many  who  have  recently  left  our  world 
is  the  memory  of  lives  well  lived — lives  in  which 
kindness  and  intelligence  and  action  were  grandly 
mingled.  These  lives  have  not  resulted  from 
Christianity  alone.  Religion  alone  may  create 
only  a  fanatic.  To  explain  them  we  add  to  relig- 
ion the  wide  learning  of  the  age  and  the  sense  of 
light  born  of  the  republic.  Religion  alone  is  a 
poor  outfit  for  a  traveling  soul.  The  barbarous 
tribes  are  deeply  religious.  Knowledge  alone 
will  leave  the  heart  poor.  Liberty  alone  France 
possessed  in  her  reign  of  terror.  It  is  when  a 
religion  like  that  of  Jesus  joins  a  wide  and  deep 
intelligence,  and  when  both  act  in  a  nation  domin- 
ated by  all  the  rights  of  man,  the  highest  type  of 
character  becomes  easily  possible.  The  present 
time  may  forgive  an  American  if  he  should  fail  to 
become  a  Methodist  or  a  Presbyterian,  but  there 
can  be  no  forgiveness  for  him  should  he  fail  to 
become  a  gentleman.  In  defense  he  can  not  plead 
the  inadequacy  of  evidence,  the  mystery  of  doc- 
trine, the  old  cruelties  of  the  church,  or  the  errors 
of  the  holy  books.  The  arguments  in  favor  of 
gentility  are  clear  as  the  sunbeams  and  are  un- 
answerable forever. 


203 

It  is  well  known  that  our  land  is  producing 
more  noble  characters  than  any  other  nation  ever 
produced,  yet  it  is  also  well  known  that  a  vast 
swarm  of  young  men  are  extracting  nothing  from 
our  education  or  our  religion  or  our  profound 
study  of  human  rights.  Their  ideals  are  low. 
They  study  the  laws  of  the  toilet,  they  become 
skillful  in  their  judgment  of  liquors,  they  know 
all  the  paths  of  vice;  if  there  is  anything  dis- 
graceful they  find  it,  if  there  is  anything  infamous 
they  love  it.  This  crowd,  although  large,  is  not 
as  overwhelming  as  it  was  when  it  sunk  Home. 
Then  all  the  sons  of  statesmen  and  scholars  and 
orators  became  gamblers  and  drunkards  and  glut- 
tons. In  our  day  it  is  necessary  for  a  youth  only 
to  wish  to  see  moral  excellence  and,  behold,  it  rises 
up  all  around  him  like  the  beauties  of  land  and 
sea  on  the  horizon.  We  stand  encompassed  by 
beautiful  lives  and  impressive  graves.  The  mu- 
sical voices  of  the  living  are  joined  by  the  musical 
memories  of  the  dead. 

The  youth  who  has  high  aspirations  must  close 
his  eyes  to  the  littleness  of  an  age  and  save  his 
mind  and  heart  for  the  vision  of  goodness  and 
greatness.     As  artists  on  their  noble  studies  of 


204 

nature  do  not  sit  down  to  sketch  a  malarial  bog, 
or  some  piece  of  deadness  or  repulsiveness,  but 
go  to  where  a  mountain  of  pines  rises  up  from  a 
ilowery  field,  or  to  where  the  smiling  ocean  lifts 
the  soul  toward  infinity,  thus  the  youth  who  hopes 
to  make  high  use  of  his  stay  upon  earth  must 
look  long  and  with  rapture  upon  those  fields  of 
human  life  where  humanity  unfolded  itself  in 
more  colors  than  a  whole  summer-time  can  contain, 
and  in  a  breadth  and  depth  which  no  ocean  can 
equal. 


©ur  Bew  i£ra. 

And  he  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne  said:  Behold!  I  make 
all  things  new. — Rev.  xxi.  5. 

When  Paul  was  making  a  sojourn  in  Athens, 
he  marked  this  peculiarity  of  all  those  citizens 
and  visitors  who  enjoyed  any  leisure — they  spent 
their  time  in  hearing  or  telling  some  new  thing. 
They  would  meet  daily  in  the  public  temples  or 
common  resorts  and  spend  hours  over  the  facts 
or  theories  of  the  time.  A  recent  traveler  in 
Greece  says  that  the  higher  natives  Avill  surpass 
all  other  races  in  their  willingness  to  sit  early  and 
late  at  a  table  to  discuss  the  morals  and  politics 
of  the  whole  world.  The  passion  for  political 
thought  seems  to  link  modern  Greece  with  that 
of  Socrates  and  Plato. 

It  may  be  that  Paul  in  his  zeal  for  the  young 
Christianity  felt  a  little  contempt  for  those  Ath- 
enians; but  he  should  have  admired  their  mental 
drift,  for,  if  he  had  just  espoused  a  new  religion, 
he  ought  to  have  commended  that  Greek  spirit 
which  was  always  looking  for  the  newest  thought 
and  truth.  The  Athenians  soon  gathered  around 
Paul  and   persuaded  him  to  go  up  to  the  hill 

205 


206 

of  Mars,  and  in  that  quiet  place  tell  them  all 
about  his  new  Galilean  theology.  Great  changes 
have  come  since  that  conference  took  place,  but 
all  these  changes  have  come  through  that  longing 
of  the  mind  after  new  things. 

We  must  not  forget  to  make  a  distinction  be- 
tween the  world's  childish  delight  in  novelties 
and  its  hunger  after  new  truths  and  new  things. 
It  is  always  easy  for  a  virtue  to  become  a  vice. 
A  little  child, eager  for  a  new  toy  each  day, is  an 
object  at  which  we  may  laugh  or  complain;  but 
we  can  not  complain  or  laugh  at  a  Newton,  who 
was  eager  to  learn  something  new  regarding  the 
stars;  nor  at  Columbus,  who  was  eager  to 
learn  something  new  about  the  ocean  which 
rolled  at  the  West.  In  the  conduct  of  the  play- 
ing children  we  see  only  a  foolish  fickleness,  but 
in  the  longings  of  the  astronomer  and  the  nav- 
igator we  see  one  of  the  noblest  qualities  of  the 
human  mind.  It  is  better,  perhaps,  not  to  desig- 
nate the  rapid  changes  of  childish  taste  as  a  vice;  it 
is  rather  the  infant  stage  of  a  love  for  the  new. 
Later  years  temper  and  guide  this  passion,  just  as 
the  poets  of  the  world  are  nothing  else  than  the 
dreaming  children  of  the  earth  carried  onward  to 


207 

a  high  standard  of  thought  and  language.  When 
the  little  child  rushes  to  its  mother  and  tells  her 
that  it  saw  some  lions  and  bears  in  the  back 
yard,  or  saw  some  Indians  stealing  children  from 
the  park,  that  child  is  not  wholly  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  John  Milton  who  saw  angels  fir- 
ing guns  in  Heaven,  or  with  John  Bunyan,  who 
saw  Giant  Despair  making  life  so  sad  for  Chris- 
tian and  Hopeful. 

Bunyan's  giant  caught  these  two  travelers 
sleeping  on  his  ground.  He  locked  them  up  in 
a  dark  dungeon  from  Wednesday  until  Saturday, 
"  without  one  bit  of  bread  or  drop  of  water  or 
ray  of  light."  At  times  the  old  giant  went  into 
the  den  and  beat  his  captives  with  a  crab -tree 
cudgel.  On  Saturday  Christian  remembered  a 
key  he  possessed,  called  "Promise,"  and  with 
that  he  opened  the  door,  and  away  they  both  ran. 
This  is  a  childish  dream  carried  up  toward  a 
mental  perfection — a  dream  full  of  truth,  for  all 
older  ones  know  that  the  key  of  promise  will 
help  them  away  from  the  old  Giant  Despair. 

The  fancies  of  young  children  and  much  of 
the  fickleness  of  early  life  are  the  seed  or  the 
promises  of  that  love  of  new  things  which  at  last 


208 

is  the  glory  of  our  race.  Man  was  created  and 
placed  in  a  very  imperfect  world.  It  must  have 
contained  little  indeed.  Could  we  reproduce  the 
far-off  scene  which  lay  between  the  two  poles  a 
million  years  ago,  we  should  see  a  spectacle  of 
human  poverty  of  which  we  know  little.  To 
reach  some  faint  hint  of  that  old  emptiness  we 
might  even  to-day  repair  to  the  African  bushmen 
and  see  a  picture  of  the  human  creature  before 
his  fancy  had  begun  to  work. 

Those  bushmen  do  not  assemble  like  the  Ath- 
enians, to  tell  and  learn  some  new  thing.  They 
would  not  lead  a  Paul  away  to  a  Mars  Hill  that 
he  might  regale  them  with  a  sketch  of  a  new 
Jesus  and  a  new  faith.  They  have  only  a  small 
language.  They  deal  most  in  gestures  and  must 
build  a  fire  when  they  would  talk  at  night. 
Their  language  is  to  be  seen  rather  than  to  be 
heard.  They  have  not  reached  the  power  to 
build  a  house.  They  have  not  yet  reached  the 
intellect  that  can  dream  of  wonderful  things  with 
our  little  children,  or  with  our  old  Miltons  and 
Bunyans.  With  them  life  is  not  infinite.  It  is 
very  limited  and  very  small.  They  do  not  make 
any  progress,  because  they  are  incapable  of  think- 


201) 

ing  of  any  new  condition.  Many  of  them  eat  to 
the  uttermost,  and  then  attempt,  by  some  nar- 
cotics, to  sink  into  sleep.  They  love  unconscious- 
ness more  than  they  love  the  vexation  of  thought 
and  life. 

Could  we  go  back  and  see  the  human  race 
through  its  whole  extent  in  time,  we  should  find 
one  of  its  great  turning  points  to  be  in  that  day 
in  which  men  first  began  to  inquire  of  each  other 
about  some  new  thing,  and  in  which  the  heart  began 
to  dream  of  vast  and  blessed  changes.  Happy  day 
to  the  primitive  human  race  when  some  angel 
came  and  sung  out  from  the  sky:  "Behold!  I 
will  make  all  things  new!"  With  that  voice  in 
the  sky,  humanity  began  to  toss  itself  forward. 
Its  heart  turned  toward  the  new. 

Those  evolutionists  who  make  man  a  natural 
result  of  other  animals,  and  who  identify  man 
with  the  fish  and  bird,  leave  us  all  bewildered  by 
the  fact  that  no  animal  except  man  ever  dreams 
of  a  new  thing,  a  new  surrounding,  a  new  happi- 
ness. Man  is  the  only  form  of  life  that  loves  the 
new.  Before  man  there  is  always  rising  the  pic- 
ture of  a  better  world — not  of  heaven  only,  but 
of  a  better  earth.  All  dumb  brutes  are  finite; 
man  struggles  with  the  infinite. 


210 

There  is  a  bird  in  Australia  that  makes  a  little 
garden,  that  plants  seeds,  that  makes  a  sitting- 
room  in  which  birds  may  assemble ;  but  this  dear 
little  creature  has  no  dreams  of  a  home  better 
than  the  one  it  builds;  it  has  no  dreams  of  an 
America  beyond  the  sea;  it  is  never  troubled 
with  any  thoughts  of  the  beyond.  You  can  not 
even  ask  it  about  God,  or  life,  or  death,  because 
its  mind  is  not  capable  of  an  inquiry.  Man  is 
the  only  animal  to  which  you  can  speak  of  the 
future.  His  world  reaches  backward  and  forward ; 
and  thus  he  separates  himself  from  all  other  crea- 
tures and  touches  the  infinite.  If  you  speak  to  the 
horse  about  eternity  the  words  are  all  lost;  speak  to 
man  about  it  and  he  weeps.  Thus  between  man 
and  all  other  creatures  a  gulf  lies  which  materi- 
alists have  not  bridged. 

Modern  civilization  comes  from  a  source  far 
more  hidden  than  the  fountains  of  the  Nile.  At 
least  the  source  of  the  enlightened  humanity  is 
more  hopelessly  hidden,  for  Africa  could  be  ex- 
amined mile  by  mile  and  foot  by  foot  until  it 
should  be  compelled  to  give  up  the  secret;  but 
it  is  impossible  now  to  traverse  the  realms  of  old 
races,  and  find  what  stages  it  passed  through  on 


211 

its  way  to  its  historic  condition.  In  this  absence 
of  fact  we  are  permitted  to  believe  that  when 
man  had  advanced  so  far  as  to  dream  of  new 
tilings,  then  his  progress  set  in  in  a  full  power. 
Man's  civilization  has  slowly  emerged  out  of  his 
mental  superiority  in  this  one  particular — the 
power  to  project  a  new  future.  The  human 
race  has  been  created  by  its  dreams.  In  its 
poverty  it  has  been  able  to  think  of  wealth; 
in  its  slavery  it  has  been  able  to  lay  plans  for 
liberty;  in  its  taste  it  has  been  able  to  think 
of  more  and  more  beauty;  in  its  many  tears  it 
has  been  able  to  think  of  more  happiness.  Thus 
the  dreams  of  which  we  often  make  sport  are 
the  dearest  hopes  of  our  race.  Even  if  man's 
individual  "ship"  does  not  come  in,  the  ship  of 
his  race  comes.  "The  Castles  in  Spain"  hide  in 
those  playful  words  the  real  and  noble  mansions 
of  many  a  nation.  Man's  dreams  reveal  his 
power.  They  are  the  early  dawning  of  his  bril- 
liant day. 

Go  back  along  any  of  the  great  paths  and  we 
soon  find  the  human  mind  growing  eloquent  over 
its  future.  The  result  is  the  same  whether  you 
open  a  holy  book  or  only  a  volume  in  common 


212 

literature.  At  some  page  it  breaks  out  into  a 
rhapsody  over  human  progress.  Isaiah  stands  for 
the  Hebrew  commonwealth  and  empire:  "Ho 
every  one  that  thirsteth!  Come  ye  to  the  waters, 
even  he  that  is  without  money.  Come, take  wine 
and  milk  without  money  and  without  price. 
*  *  *  My  promise  shall  not  return  unto  me 
void.  It  shall  accomplish  what  I  please.  Ye 
shall  go  on  with  joy  and  be  led  forth  in  peace. 
The  mountains  and  the  hills  shall  break  forth 
before  you  into  singing,  and  all  the  trees  of  the 
held  shall  clap  their  hands.  Instead  of  the  thorn 
shall  come  up  the  fir  tree,  and  instead  of  the  briar 
shall  come  up  the  myrtle.1'  Isaiah  went  so  far  as 
to  picture  a  day  when  all  the  wild  beasts  should 
put  aside  their  ferocity  and  be  led  along  by  a 
little  child. 

The  substance  of  such  a  vision  is  all  to  be 
found  in  the  philosophy  of  Socrates  and  Plato. 
In  Virgil  it  springs  up  again  in  nearly  the  words 
of  Isaiah.  Virgil  sang:  "  A  great  age  will  come. 
A  high  quality  of  years  will  be  born.  A  more 
divine  race  will  appear,  and  iron  will  yield  up 
its  place  to  gold.  The  serpents  and  the  poison- 
ous weeds  will  perish.     The  fields  will  grow  yel- 


213 

low  with  the  ripening  corn,  and  the  sap  of  the 
oak  will  be  honey.11 

In  the  Dream  of  Scipio,  written  perhaps  by 
Cicero,  all  this  triumph  of  man  is  seen  beyond 
the  river  of  death :  There  Scipio  sees  his  parents 
and  friends  and  loved  ones  in  an  image  grander 
than  life  and  in  a  nobleness  that  made  earth  seem 
humble.  These  and  many  similar  passages  all 
united  in  declaring  man  to  be  a  child  of  destiny — 
a  mind  that  can  urge  its  world  always  onward  and 
can  make  all  things  redouble  their  value. 

Against  Henry  George's  theory  of  non  owner- 
ship of  land,  some  one  quoted  a  sentence  from  a 
writer  of  the  former  century:  "Give  man  the 
secure  possession  of  a  bleak  rock  and  he  will 
turn  it  into  a  garden ;  give  him  a  nine-year  lease 
of  a  garden  and  he  will  turn  it  into  a  desert." 
This  old  sentence  illustrates  the  fact  that  man  did 
take  his  desert  world  and  did  make  a  garden  out 
of  it.  It  stands  all  beautified  in  Greece  and 
Italy  and  France,  beautified  everywhere  because 
man,  the  dreamer,  has  lived  in  it  and  with  it. 
Although  life  has  been  too  much  like  a  lease  for 
man's  perfect  peace  for  all  hours,  yet  nearly  all 
talent  and  love  have  acted  as  though  they  were  to 


214 

dwell  here  forever.  When  man  is  in  his  full 
power  his  heart  acts  as  though  it  were  to  beat  for- 
ever. Owning  this  world  he  turns  the  barren 
rock  into  a  garden,  and  all  this  great  change 
conies  through  his  perpetual  dream  of  a  new 
greatness  and  a  new  beauty. 

There  was  given  to  man  in  the  beginning  a 
very  simple  world,  but  its  possibilities  were  infi- 
nite. We  must,  therefore,  conceive  of  society  as 
marching  from  one  to  infinity.  New  ideas  must 
come  each  day.  There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a 
fixed  politics,  or  a  fixed  social  life,  or  a  fixed 
religion.  When  the  sun  sets  each  evening  we 
bid  farewell  to  the  world  of  that  day.  It  will 
never  return.  The  rising  sun  of  the  next  morn- 
ing says:  "Behold!  I  shall  make  all  things  new.1' 
The  world  will  waken  to  new  thoughts.  The 
kings  nave  attempted  to  make  the  human  race 
stand  still,  but  not  all  the  power  of  empires  has 
availed  to  keep  crowns  from  falling  and  liberty 
from  springing  up  from  the  dust.  The  Calvin- 
ists  attempted  to  make  their  creed  perpetual,  but 
what  flourished  so  triumphantly  in  a  past  century 
dies  suddenly  in  this  period.  The  Roman  Cath- 
olic Church  is  carried  along  by  the  same  irrepress- 


215 

ible  growth  of  the  race,  and,  boasting  of  being 
founded  upon  a  rock,  finds  tliat  its  rock  moves. 
The  laws  of  the  universe  do  not  know  any  differ- 
ence between  the  Protestant  and  the  Catholic,  the 
republican  and  the  democrat.  It  cries  out  to  all : 
March  from  A  to  B ;  and  soon  the  ground  trembles 
beneath  the  footsteps  of  men.  All  the  known 
powers  of  money,  church  and  state  can  not  keep 
humanity  still.  One  might  as  well  put  a  heavy 
stone  on  the  shadow  of  a  tree  to  keep  the  sun 
from  moving. 

What,  then,  is  conservatism  ?  Conservatism  is 
the  desire  to  keep  society  from  moving  to  a  worse 
condition.  It  is  also  a  desire  to  keep  man  from 
running  madly  when  he  ought  to  move  slowly. 
It  is  also  a  desire  to  remain  in  a  safe  place  while 
in  great  doubt.  It  is  often  a  sending  out  of  a 
dove  to  see  if  the  deluge  has  ceased.  Conserva- 
tism has  no  meaning  whatever  when  it  is  arrayed 
against  progress.  It  is,  in  such  cases,  only  a  dig- 
nified name  for  stupidity.  Much  of  modern  con- 
servatism is  only  a  profound  satisfaction  taken 
by  a  man  in  a  selfish  or  stupid  life.  If  you 
would  find  the  lawful  arena  of  conservatism, read 
in  the    "Vicar   of  Wakefield"    that   chapter   in 


216 

which  Moses  was  sent  to  town  to  sell  the  family 
horse.  The  family  was  in  great  poverty,  and 
had  to  part  with  its  domestic  pet.  In  the 
evening  Moses  returned.  He  had  sold  the  animal 
for  £3  15s. and  2d.  This  price  was  low  enough  to 
make  the  family  weep.  But  the  worst  had  not 
been  told.  Moses  had  not  received  cash  for  the 
noble  pet,  but  he  had  taken  a  box  of  green  spec- 
tacles which  were  said  to  be  worth  the  alleged 
sum.  Moses  ought  to  have  possessed  conserva- 
tism enough  to  make  him  bring  back  the  horse 
unsold.  Thus,  conservatism  is  a  wall  between 
society  and  the  insanity  of  crime  or  blind 
folly ;  but  when  a  new  and  true  idea  comes,  this 
wall  is  to  be  torn  down,  and  we  must  all  move 
out  and  move  on.  The  sweetly  new  is  a  voice 
from  the  sky.  It  is  the  dove  returning  with  an 
olive  leaf  in  its  mouth,  thus  telling  us  to  leave 
the  old,  dark  ark  and  move  out  into  the  fresh, 
sunlit  world. 

The  early  phrenologists  found  in  the  brain  a 
department  wholly  devoted  to  wonder.  Impelled 
by  that  quality  of  the  mind,  the  little  child  is  for- 
ever asking  questions  of  its  patient  mother.  It 
wonders:  What  are  the  stars ?  What  is  on  the 
moon?     What  makes  the  thunder  and  the  light- 


217 

ning?  What  makes  the  snow?  What  makes 
night?  Who  taught  the  birds  to  sing?  Who 
painted  the  flowers  ?  Who  made  God  ?  What  is 
sleep?  What  is  death?  Oh,  marvelous  and  divine 
island  in  the  soul's  ocean !  Oh,  enchanting  land 
beyond  any  described  in  fable  or  history!  Long 
after  man  has  passed  out  of  childhood  his  won- 
derment runs  on  and  on,  and,  should  he  live  a 
hundred  years, he  passes  all  his  last  days  in  deep 
wondering.  The  scene  becomes  too  great  for 
him.  In  his  limited  circle  he  struggles  with  the 
infinity  around  him.  If  he  climbs  a  height  he 
sees  more,  indeed,  but  this  new  height  makes  the 
horizon  more  sweeping.  The  questions  which 
childhood  asks  increase  in  all  after  years.  The 
heart  simply  does  not  utter  them  because  it  has 
no  longer  a  mother  to  whom  to  run.  In  an  in- 
finite and  silent  wonderment  mother  and  son  at 
last  meet. 

This  is  the  corner  of  the  brain  which  at  last 
makes  poetry  and  then  baffles  it.  One  of  the 
poets  says: 

"  Where  lies  the  land  to  which  our  ship  must  go? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?     Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say." 


218 

Another  poet  asks: 

' '  Oh,  where  will  be  the  birds  that  sing 
A  hundred  years  to  come  ? 
The  flowers  that  now  in  beauty  spring 
A  hundred  years  to  come? 
The  rosy  lip,  the  lofty  brow, 
The  heart  that  beats  so  gayly  now  ? 
Oh,  where  will  be  the  beaming  eye? 
Joy's  happy  smile  and  sorrow's  sigh 
A  hundred  years  to  come?" 

Out  of  this  perpetual  wonderment  of  the  mind 
comes  much  of  the  fact  and  splendor  of  humanity. 
Armed  and  inspired  by  this  wonder,  man  starts 
out  as  a  barbarian  and  comes  in  at  last  with  a 
civilization.  The  Greek  wondered  if  there  were 
not  a  more  perfect  face,  a  more  perfect  form,  and 
out  of  his  longings  came  a  high  art.  The  Greek 
woman  wondered  if  woman  must  be  a  slave  for- 
ever. Out  of  her  anxiety  came  a  Sappho,  a  poet- 
ess and  writer  to  rival  the  fame  of  Pericles. 
Christ  wondered  if  there  might  not  be  a  nobler 
human  career,  and  to-day  his  name  is  worn  by  all 
the  greatest  nations.  A  sailor  once  wondered  if 
there  might  not  be  a  hemisphere  to  the  west. 
His  wonder  at  last  secured  three  ships  and  after- 
ward pulled  the  old  thick  veil  off  two  continents. 


219 

Encompassed  by  such  a  long  series  of  scenes, 
we  can  not  but  conclude  that  the  highest  duty  of 
society  is  to  compel  its  nagging  soldiers  to  march 
on  toward  a  better  future.  We  must  always 
appeal  to  our  fainting  hearts  and  tell  them  that 
God  and  nature  have  ordered  an  advance.  We 
must  be  young  even  in  old  age,  because,  when  a 
man  is  ninety, his  church  and  state  and  city  are 
still  young.  Each  day  they  begin  a  new  life.  A 
new  socialism  is  here,  a  new  orthodoxy  is  here, 
new  books  are  here,  new  art,  new  songs,  new 
prayers,  new  beauty.  The  man  of  white  hair 
must  live  and  die  in  a  new  world.  Only  his  body 
can  be  old.  All  of  the  great  things  longed  for 
come,  and,  being  noble,  they  take  their  place 
among  the  treasures  of  civilization.  America 
is  the  land  which  Columbus  longed  for;  and 
its  freedom  to-day  is  that  of  which  the  Wash- 
ingtons  all  dreamed.  In  our  country  are  to  be 
found  now  the  garnered  longings  of  years. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  a  great 
new  age  and  an  age  of  novelties.  There  are 
young  men  who  keep  up  with  the  age  by  order- 
ing a  new  kind  of  coat.  Its  corners  are  more 
rounded  than  they  were  yesterday.    These  youths 


220 

carry  a  lighter  walking  stick  and  hold  it  in  a 
new  way.  So  are  there  ladies  who  keep  up 
with  the  age  by  purchasing  a  new  kind  of  hat. 
Of  these  matters  and  persons  civilization  takes 
no  note.  It  does  indeed  remember  that  the 
Greek  men  and  women  did  not  change  their 
style  of  robe,  head-dress  and  girdle  once  in  a 
thousand  years.  This  release  left  them  time  to 
become  great  in  intellect,  and  the  important 
fact  is,  that, in  that  land  of  manhood  and  woman- 
hood, changed  a  poor  body  for  a  better  one, 
and  a  common  mind  for  one  more  gifted,  low 
art  for  high  art,  and  the  mntterings  of  savages  for 
a  language  and  literature  rich  beyond  all  descrip- 
tion. The  heart  fond  of  novelties  is  only  an 
infant's  heart  when  compared  with  a  soul  that 
gathers  up  the  mighty  truths  and  feelings  of  a 
new  period. 

On  the  coast  of  the  German  Ocean  women  and 
children,  and  men  also,  are  constantly  walking 
to  and  fro  looking  in  the  sand  for  the  lumps 
of  amber  cast  out  by  tide  and  storm.  Here,  in 
this  great  republic,  a  large  company  of  minds 
has  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  shores  of  a  new 
ocean,  and    valuable    is    the    wealth    they    have 


221 

found.  It  has  come  from  both  war  and  peace. 
Never  walked  the  wondering,  longing  mortals 
upon  sand  so  rich.  They  have  found  liberty, 
education,  rights,  a  religion  of  deeds  and  love, 
all  the  arts  in  beauty  beyond  those  seen  by 
Phidias  or  Zeuxis,  music  far  beyond  what  the 
past  ever  heard,  and  then  a  public  taste  for 
a  goodness  and  beauty  higher  still  and  much 
more  abundant.  The  divine  voice,  "  I  shall 
make  all  things  new "  has  been  sacredly  kept 
to  our  age.  A  new  civilization  has  come  rap- 
idly, as  though  weary  of    its  long  delay. 

To  you  who  live  in  this  part  of  the  noble  earth 
much  of  these  material  and  mental  riches  has 
come.  You  have  not  strolled  on  life's  shore  in 
vain.  You  have  found  amber  in  the  sand;  but 
whom  will  you  elect  as  guardians  of  these  treas- 
ures and  longings  of  the  new  West?  What  men 
will  you  choose  to  execute  your  ideas  of  well 
being  and  well  doing?  What  men  will  you 
appoint  to  utter  all  your  noblest  thoughts  and  to 
embody  them  in  the  city's  public  and  private  life  ? 
What  men  will  express  your  taste  or  your  elo- 
quence? Can  the  depraved  take  care  of  the 
splendor  the  noble  have  created  ?     The  answer  is 


222 

loud  and  distinct.  A  new  and  splendid  age  needs 
a  new  politics.  It  is  a  crime  to  gather  up  good- 
ness and  beauty  from  all  places  and  times  and 
then  ask  the  saloons  and  city  bedlams  to  fashion 
our  politics.  More  than  we  need  new  statues, 
new  pictures,  new  music,  new  temples,  new 
parks,  we  need  a  new  municipal  life.  A  great 
age  must  create  a  great  politics.  The  men  who 
make  an  era  must  save  it  and  love  it.  A 
party  should  rise  up  out  of  the  new  time, 
that  the  new  time  might  stand  guardian  of  its 
own  mental  treasures.  We  early  perceive  two 
large  religious  groups  in  religion — the  Protest- 
ants and  the  Catholics,  and  two  large  political 
groups,  each  of  which  four  groups  could  contrib- 
ute some  mind  fully  adequate  to  speak  and  act 
for  the  time.  Civilization  does  not  indeed  know 
anything  about  the  lines  that  divide  men  into 
parties  in  church  or  state.  Civilization  can  take 
note  of  only  intelligence  and  virtue,  but  human 
brotherhood  sees  and  feels  these  lines,and,  there- 
fore, the  new  politics  would  best  look  upon  human 
friendship  as  being  one  of  its  latest  and  best 
principles.  Each  of  the  great  groups  should 
contribute  its  most  noble  and  typical  mind,  and 


223 

these  minds,  working  together,  should  take  care 
of  the  civilization  they  love  and  have  helped 
to  create. 

This  angel  of  the  sky  having  said  to  all  the 
races  which  have  come  and  gone,  "I  will  make  all 
things  new,'1  having  said  these  words  to  the  first 
artist  who  attempted  to  carve  or  paint  beauty, 
having  repeated  them  to  the  first  orator  who 
wished  to  speak,  and  to  the  first  poet  who  at- 
tempted to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  the  human 
heart,  having  flung  the  rich  promise  to  the  first 
full  soul  that  ever  attempted  to  express  a  senti- 
ment in  song,  having  cheered  the  first  citizens  who 
ever  dreamed  of  founding  a  republic — this  kind 
angel,  crowned  and  loving  as  the  Creator  himself, 
comes  at  last  to  each  faithful  man  when  he  is 
dying,  and  while  earth  is  receding  whispers  to 
him  in  that  moment,  when  all  the  dear  things 
seem  passing  away  forever,  and  says,  "Behold, 
dying  heart,  I  will  make  all  things  new!" 


tributes 


tribute  IDerses. 

JSs  ffranft  1M.  ©unsaulus. 

Where  gentle  waves  come  slowly  into  shore, 

Beside  the  sea-green  splendor,  loved  and  praised, 

Sleeps  his  last  sleep  the  poet-priest  who  bore 
Man's  soul  to  heaven,  in  dear  hands  upraised. 

He  swung  no  censer  fragrant  with  sweet  fire; 

His  was  the  incense  of  God's  fairest  thought; 
He  held  the  chalice  of  the  soul's  desire; 

His  faith  with  jewels  all  its  gold  enwrought. 

His  priestly  robe,  all  beauteous  with  gems, 
Was  holy  eloquence,   aud  truth,   and  love; 

He  knew  how  poor  are  earth's  best  diadems; 
His  were  the  riches  of  the  life  above. 

Our  poet-preacher,  in  his  words  of  prose, 
Made  life  a  lyric,  and  its  dreams  sublime; 

Far  from  his  musing  and  his  hope  there  goes 
Eternal  music  for  the  sons  of  time. 

No  son  of  thunder,  with  a  lightning  stroke 
Smiting  an  ice-field  in  his  furious  blast; 

His  was  the  sun-burst,  as  from  heaven  it  broke, 
Sure  of  its  triumph  when  the  noise  had  passed. 

Light,  white  as  Heaven,  warmth,  as  soft  as  tears, 
Came  from  his  genius  like  an  April  day. 

So,  melting  dogmas  with  their  twilight  fears, 
Summer  hath  conquered  in  the  breath  of  May. 

225 


22f> 


Hard  were  the  bands  that  held  the  feet  of  Truth, 

Weary  of  cold,  and  frozen  into  creeds; 
His  sunny  soul  hath  kissed  her  lips  and  youth; 

Lo,  Truth  comes  bearing  harvestings  of  deeds. 

His  was  the  fragrance  when  the  storm  is  done — 
Breath  of  the  lilies  when  the  sky  is  clear. 

Through  all  the  tumult,  God  had  this  strong  son 
Telling  our  doubtings:    "  The  Divine  is  here.'''' 

One  to  this  prophet  were  the  good  and  true — 
One  with  all  beauty  in  the  earth  and  sky; 

His  was  the  faith  that  gave  this  world  its  due; 
His  was  the  love  that  laid  its  honors  by. 

He  loved  the  Christ  whose  beauty  was  more  dear 
And  sweeter  far  than  strains  of  angel's  lyre; 

For  this  alone — Christ  filled  life's  deepest  tear 
With  God's  own  glory  and  divine  desire. 

Far  on  the  edge  where  seas  of  doubt  roll  high, 

This  soul  was  calm,  'midst  surf  and  storm  unvexed; 

Far  o'er  the  waves,  beneath  a  clouded  sky, 

Moved  a  fair  soul  with  doubtings  unperplexed. 

Ye  called  him  vague?    What  soul,  who  stands  and  kuows 
All  man  would  feel  and  all  that  man  may  find, 

Waits  not  in  silence?  For  truth's  morning  rose 
Opes  leaf  by  leaf  within  the  faithful  mind. 

Never  did  he  with  trumpet  call  the  brave 

Round  some  rush-light  that  soon  must  die  away. 

lie  spake:      " 'Tis  dawn!"  when  o'er  the  earth  and  wave 
Quivered  the  promise  of  a  new-born  day. 


227 

His  was  John's  Gospel  of  the  love  divine; 

His  was  the  logic  of  the  human  heart. 
His  was  the  sight,  intuitive  and  fine, 

Finding  the  Savior  in  life's  common  mart. 

"Where,  asking  questions,  Socrates  had  found 

Wisdom  and  silence  in  the  open  mind. 
There,  in  old  Greece,  he  lived  in  thoughts  profound; 

Near  the  JSgean  was  his  hope  enshrined. 

What  hours  were  they,  when  on  the  streets  of  Rome, 
Walking  with  him,  philosopher  and  seer, 

Horace  or  Virgil  led  our  poet  home, 

Nor  asked  a  verse  to  make  his  presence  dear. 

Both  Greek  and  Roman,  intellect  and  law, 

Found  in  his  Christ  their  whole  demand  fulfilled. 

O  for  the  Vision  and  the  Face  he  saw, 

When  adoration  bade  the  creeds  be  stilled ! 

Moan,   autumn  winds  !     His   autumn-time   was  here; 

Ruddy  and  golden  all  the  fruit  he  bore. 
'Midst  harvest  sheaves  and  leafage  brown  and  sere 

We  say:    "Farewell,  but  not  forevermore." 


Sermon 

SDelivereo  bg  IRcv.  3obn  1b.  JBarrows,  2).  2).,  ipaetor  of  tbc 

ffirat  Presbyterian  Gburcb,  Gbicago,  at  tbe 

jfuneral  Service  belb  in  tbe 

Central  Gburcb. 

The  power  of  an  endless  life. — Hebrews  vii.  1G. 

The  grieving  multitudes  gathered  in  this  beau- 
tiful hall — the  monument  and  memorial  of  the 
love  which  David  Swing  inspired  in  your  hearts — 
are  only  a  small  part  of  the  greater  multitude 
who  cherish  his  name  and  his  life  in  affectionate 
and  grateful  remembrance.  But  we  do  not  mourn 
for  one  who  has  gone  out  of  existence.  He  has 
rather  just  entered  into  life,  the  full  and  endless 
life,  whose  ennobling,  inspiring,  restraining  and 
consoling  power  he  so  beautifully  proclaimed. 
It  might  have  been  said  of  him,  as  was  said  of 
Agassiz,  that,  "to  be  one  hour  in  his  company 
was  to  gain  tbe  strongest  argument  for  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul.1'  And  these  flowers,  children 
of  that  beauty  which  he  loved,  the  sweetness  of 
music,  these  words  of  tender  prayer  and  the  tears 
which  may  not  all  be  kept  back,  also  speak,  now 
that  he  has  gone,  not  only  of  our  affection  but  of 
our  faith  in  the  rationality  and  goodness  of  this 

228 


229 

universe,  created  and  governed  by  him  who  has 
brought  life  and  immortality  into  full  light 
through  the  Gospel  of  Christ. 

Sometimes,  in  life,  Professor  Swing  gave  to  his 
friends  an  impression  of  pensive  loneliness,  as  if 
his  heart-hunger  for  affection,  which  years  and 
sorrows  only  increased,  had  never  been  satisfied. 
Enough  of  love  is  expressed  in  this  meeting,  at 
his  burial  hour,  to  content  any  soul.  Our  thoughts 
at  this  time  might  be:  '"Forever  silent  is  that 
voice  which,  with  its  magic  like  that  of  the  fabled 
music  of  old,  built  those  modern  walls  for  the 
service  of  God  and  man."  The  good  gray  head 
which  all  men  knew,  is  gone  from  our  sight.  The 
deft  spinner  and  weaver  of  the  brain  will  offer 
no  more  fabrics  for  our  delight.  The  beautiful 
home  by  the  lake  shore,  where  the  father  and 
grandfather  was  the  center  of  love,  is  darkened, 
and  the  library  in  which  he  found  companion- 
ship with  Plato,  and  Dante,  and  Milton,  and  all 
the  chief  sages  and  poets,  will  miss  the  master's 
hand. 

But  these  shall  not  be  our  meditations,  but 
rather,  how  thankful  we  are  for  such  a  gift  kept 
for  us  so  long;  how  many  and  good  are  the  les- 


230 

sons  of  his  character,  and  how  abiding  the  fruits 
of  his  wisdom.  When  great  men  have  died,  it 
was  his  wont  to  speak  of  them  from  this  pulpit. 
He  not  only  surveyed  the  wide  world  of  letters 
and  of  action,  enriching  other  minds  with  his 
thought,  but  how  tenderly  he  always  spoke  of 
the  illustrious  dead,  as  one  by  one  they  sank 
from  sight — Sumner,  Garfield,  Phillips,  Beecher, 
Blaine,  Phillips  Brooks,  Tennyson,  Whittier, 
Browning,  Dr.  Patterson,  and  the  rest.  What  a 
genius  he  had  for  appreciating  the  good  and 
great,  and  how  little  disposition  to  believe  evil 
and  to  point  with  snarling  criticism  at  supposed 
imperfections ! 

We  covet  his  skill  and  his  temper  in  speaking 
our  thoughts  to-day.  No  one  in  our  city  was 
more  esteemed  by  all  classes  of  men  for  his 
humanity,  which  reached  not  only  to  the  poor  of 
his  kind,  but  to  the  dumb  animals.  His  modesty, 
his  wisdom,  his  scholarship,  his  gentleness,  drew 
to  him  men  and  women  of  many  types.  Old  con- 
troversies had  worn  themselves  out,  and  men  val- 
ued him  for  what  he  was.  He  was  our  most 
famous  citizen,  or,  with  Mr.  Moody,  the  evangelist, 
and  Miss  Willard,  the  reformer,  he  was  one  of 


231 

our  three  most  famous  citizens,  and  lie  is  mourned 
to-day  by  devout  and  loving  souls  throughout  the 
Northwest  and  all  over  America.  It  was  to  this 
place  that  other  men  of  fame,  coming  to  our  city, 
flocked  on  Sunday,  somewhat  as  they  used  to  go 
to  Plymouth  Church  in  Brooklyn,  or  as  they  are 
now  found  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Our  friend, 
your  pastor  and  teacher,  will  be  mourned  beyond 
the  seas,  by  good  men  in  London,  and  in  other 
lands,  and  even  in  far-off  Calcutta  the  tears  will 
fall  in  Peace  Cottage  when  Mozoomdar  learns 
that  his  friend  has  gone  before  him. 

But  here  the  Catholic  and  the  Methodist,  the 
Baptist  and  the  Congregationalist,  the  Presby- 
terian and  Episcopalian,  the  Unitarian  and  the 
Jew,  feel  that  a  brother  has  been  taken,  and  the 
city  will  seem  impoverished  to  many  thousands, 
even  though  they  feel  that  his  life  on  earth  will  con- 
tinue, since  he  has  joined  "the  choir  invisible  of 
those  select  souls  whose  music  is  the  gladness 
of  the  world." 

It  is  natural  for  us,  in  comparing  him  with 
other  men,  to  say  that  he  ranks  with  Frederick 
W.  Robertson  and  Dean  Stanley,  with  Bushnell 
and  Beecher,  in  the  temper  of  his  mind  and  the 


232 

quality  of  his  thought;  but  I  prefer,  without  any 
comparison,  to  think  of  David  Swing  as  a  genius, 
unique,  original,  doing  faithfully  the  work  to 
which  he  believed  he  was  called  in  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  his  life.  That  life  is  very  familiar 
to  those  whom  I  address.  ■  We  call  before  our 
minds  his  early  career — his  father  a  pilot  on  the 
Ohio,  a  man  of  stern  temper  but  of  strict  integ- 
rity, on  whose  tombstone  are  written  the  words, 
"He  was  an  honest  man;"  the  meager  advantages 
of  his  younger  years,  his  going  up  to  college 
from  the  farm  at  Williamsburg,  where  he  had 
read  a  few  borrowed  novels  and  Calvin's  Institutes, 
and  gained  a  good  start  in  Latin ;  his  successful 
student  career,  his  companionship  with  men  who 
became  famous,  his  success  as  a  teacher  of  the 
classics,  his  call  to  this  city,  and  the  pastorships 
of  the  Westminster  and  Fourth  Presbyterian 
churches,  the  breadth  and  originality  of  his 
preaching,  the  heresy  trial,  his  acquittal  by  the 
presbytery,  the  renewal  of  the  charges  before  the 
synod,  his  withdrawal  from  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  the  organizing  of  the  Central  Church, 
the  building  of  this  hall,  the  widening  of  his 
fame  and  influence,  and  the  twenty  years  of  his 
faithful  preaching. 


283 

At  the  Miami  University  he  roused  the  enthu- 
siasm of  all,  and  whenever  lie  lectured  or  preached, 
the  college  and  village  poured  out  their  throngs 
to  hear  him,  as  the  great  cities  did  in  later  years; 
and  those  who  heard  him  at  the  beo-innino-  remem- 
ber  well  that  his  ideas  were  as  unconventional  and 
broad  from  the  start  as  in  later  times,  and  the 
temper  of  his  mind  was  the  same,  while  his  liter- 
ary style,  fashioned  by  his  genius  and  his  famil- 
iarity with  the  classic  poets,  was  the  same  Virgil - 
ian  prose  as  that  which  has  captivated  so  many 
thousands. 

He  will  be  remembered  as  a  preacher  of  a  new 
type.  He  stood  before  you  luminous  with  a 
heavenly  light,  his  features  made  lovely  by  his 
thought,  discoursing  of  the  life  of  man,  "the  life 
of  love,  the  divine  Jesus,  the  blissful  immortality." 
He  found  in  the  Bible,  to  use  his  own  words, 
"the  record  of  God's  will  as  to  the  life  and  salva- 
tion of  his  children.'"  He  did  not  preach  like 
others,  but  according  to  the  bent  of  his  own 
genius.  His  discourse  might  not  harmonize  with 
Professor  Phelps'  definition  of  a  sermon ;  it  was 
not  always  a  popular  speech  on  truth  derived 
directly  from  the  scriptures,  elaborately  treated 


234 

with  a  view  to  persuasion,  but  there  was  a  quiet 
power  which  moved  many  minds,  as  fiery  exhorta- 
tion or  elaborate  exegesis  does  not  always  move 
them.  With  ethical  enthusiasm,  with  luminous 
intelligence,  with  gentle  sympathy,  he  made 
known  his  faith  in  God's  goodness  and  man's 
possibilities.  His  intellectual  refinement  was 
extraordinary,  and  it  seems  almost  an  irony  of 
fate  that  this  rude  city  of  the  West  should  have 
held  the  most  cultured  and  esthetic  of  American 
preachers,  as  it  certainly  seems  strange  to  millions 
that  out  of  Chicago  one  year  ago  there  blossomed 
the  fairest  flower  of  art  the  earth  has  ever  seen. 

And  here,  through  all  these  years,  David  Swing 
taught  the  j>eople  to  love  God  and  man.  "  We 
find  in  the  Christian  church,"  he  said,  "the  ideal 
service  of  our  Heavenly  Father.  It  is  one  among 
ten  thousand,  and,  in  its  leading  head,  Christ,  it 
is  spotless.1'  He  had  a  zeal  for  righteousness, 
and  this  came  with  his  blood,  for  he  was 
descended  from  the  Protestant  Germans  who 
were  driven  out  of  the  Palatinate.  He  was  a 
reformer  who  did  not  come  over  in  the  May- 
flower. But,  though  not  of  New  England  parent- 
age,  he  knew  the  meaning  for  liberty  of   that 


235 

little  ship  which,  as  he  said,  carried  "a  continent 
and  a  republic.11 

But  he  was  no  fanatic,  demanding  impossi- 
bilities or  advocating  any  rigorous  asceticism  of 
conduct;  he  loved  all  the  humanities  and  the 
gracious  pleasures  of  life,  while  he  denounced 
with  quiet  earnestness  all  public  and  private  sins. 
His  civic  patriotism  was  not  less  marked  than  his 
genuine  Americanism,  and  his  last  sermon,  given 
here  only  three  weeks  ago,  told  what  he  thought 
of  the  recent  troubles  which  have  imperiled  our 
liberty.  And  we  shall  do  well  to  listen  again  to 
the  last  words  he  ever  uttered  in  his  pulpit: 

"Oh,  that  God,  by  His  almighty  power,  may 
hold  back  our  Nation  from  destruction  for  a  few 
more  perilous  years,  that  it  may  learn  where  lie 
the  paths  in  which,  as  brothers  just  and  loving, 
all  may  walk  with  the  most  of  excellence  and 
the  most  of  happiness." 

It  was  excellence  and  happiness  which  he 
strove  to  advance  in  every  way,  and  he  helped  to 
teach  us  faith  in  ourselves  as  we  are  brought 
under  the  power  of  truth  and  goodness.  By  his 
life  and  words  he  showed  that  the  art  of  Athens 
and  the  diviner   art  of   Jerusalem  may  have  a 


23G 

home  among  us.  As  lie  felt  deeply  that  men  are 
to  be  aided  best  through  hope  and  through  gen- 
erous praise,  he  would  not  fix  his  mind  on  the 
evil  only.  He  said:  "  If  we  come  to  think  that 
all  are  worshiping  gold,  we,  too,  despairing  of  all 
else,  will  soon  betray  ourselves  by  bowing  at  the 
same  altar." 

He  seemed  free  from  the  greed  of  gain  him- 
self, and  stood  and  shone  as  a  beautiful  intellect- 
ual light  in  our  city.  You  who  are  members  of 
this  congregation  are  glad  that  you  furnished  the 
golden  candlestick  from  which  his  life  streamed 
out,  and  that  you  were  yourselves  the  medium 
through  which  that  light  first  passed  to  others. 
He  called  our  thoughts  away  to  the  better  aspects 
of  the  age,  and  while  men  were  scanning  with 
eager  envy  the  deeds  of  the  millionaires,  he  bade 
us  mark  "  how  our  scholars  hurried  to  the  far 
West  to  study  the  last  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and 
how  a  score  of  new  scientists  met  on  that  mount- 
ain-top to  ask  the  shadow  to  tell  them  something 
more  about  the  star  depths  and  the  throne  of  the 
Almighty."  Who  else  in  our  times  has  preached 
more  continuously  and  persuasively  the  gospel  of 
a  kingdom  of  God  on  earth  ? 


237 

I  need  scarcely  analyze  the  qualities  of  his 
mind,  they  were  so  palpable  to  the  community. 
His  extraordinary  mental  resources  are  well 
known,  the 'poetic  and,  perhaps,  mystic  cast  of 
mind,  his  love  of  music,  his  love  of  art,  his 
delight  in  beauty,  his  familiarity  with  all  that# 
is  best  in  literature,  and,  I  may  add,  his  good 
judgment  of  public  men  and  measures,  his  level- 
headedness and  lack  of  that  foolish  credulity  in 
believing  almost  every  evil  of  successful  men 
which  marks  a  certain  narrow,  fastidious,  and 
pessimistic  type  of  character.  After  the  great 
fire  he  proved  himself  in  practical  ways  a  most 
efficient  helper  of  the  needy,  giving  himself,  in 
company  with  a  dear  friend,  to  the  work  of  caring 
for  the  destitute.  He  had  a  faculty  of  drawing 
to  his  side  the  men  of  civic  might  and  influence, 
and  if  you  will  read  his  declaration  and  argu- 
ment made  during  his  trial  for  heresy,  you  will 
discover  in  him  a  power  of  clear,  discriminating 
statement,  and  of  forceful  reasoning,  which  may 
surprise  any  one  familiar  only  with  the  more 
imaginative  workings  of  his  great  mind. 

Professor     Swing    was    not    aggressive   and 
belligerent,  but  if  any  human   brother  was  ill- 


238 

treated,  whether  the  Jew  in  Russia,  or  the  negro 
at  the  South,  his  voice  was  quick  in  protest.  He 
was  not  belligerent,  I  say,  but  he  was  splendidly 
persistent,  holding  to  the  truth  as  he  saw  it  with 
a  loving  but  invincible  tenacity.  It  was  not 
the  noisy  persistence  of  Niagara,  but  the  quiet 
persistence  of  the  sun  and  the  punctual  stars.  He 
appeared  to  be  without  any  ambition  in  the  ordi- 
nary sense;  he  did  not  husband  his  literary 
resources,  but  poured  out  his  thoughts  with  mar- 
velous facility,  never  rewriting  or  repeating  a 
discourse.  What  he  wrote  came  from  his  pen 
without  interlineation;  and  his  memory  was  so 
tenacious  that  he  required  no  memorandum  book 
for  thoughts  and  facts.  He  always  knew  where 
to  find  what  he  required.  He  deemed  it  a  bless- 
ing that  his  old  sermons  were  burned  up  in 
the  fire,  since  he  was  delivered  from  the  temp- 
tation to  fall  back  on  what  he  had  done. 

And  you  will  know  that  he  was  a  man  of 
deep  and  quick  sympathies;  many  of  us  will 
cherish  the  words  he  wrote  to  us  in  sorrow  as 
among  the  sweetest  and  most  comforting;  that 
ever  came  from  a  Christian  heart.  He  was  deeply 
attached  to  his  old  friends,  and  especially  to  this 


239 

city,  where  for  nearly  thirty  years  his  voice  has 
been  heard  in  behalf  of  righteousness  and  love. 
He,  whom  we  mourn,  loved  Chicago  as  it  loved 
him,  and  though  he  once  made  a  European  jour- 
ney, his  heart  never  traveled,  and  he  always 
preferred  to  see  the  Old  World  through  the 
eyes  of  the  poet  and  historian,  and  to  dwell 
here  among  his  old  friends. 

And  you  all  remember  how  his  wit  and  humor 
were  as  remarkable  as  his  affection  at  eness  and 
his  imagination.  He  may  have  been  tempted  to 
satirize  too  keenly  at  times,  and  too  frequently, 
the  theological  conservatism  against  which  his  life 
was  a  protest ;  but  surely  here  is  a  weapon  which 
good  men  have  a  right  to  use,  and  he  employed 
it  as  the  friend  of  God  and  man.  I  scarcely 
know  of  anything  better  in  its  way  than  his  recent 
picture  of  the  slowness  of  the  human  mind, 
even  in  this  age  of  express  trains  and  telegraphs. 
"Our  moral  world,"  he  said,  "is  dragged  by  oxen. 
It  has  no  railroad  speed.  The  railway  carries 
men's  bodies  rapidly,  but  it  never  interferes 
with  the  old  slow  speed  of  intellect.  The  intel- 
lect of  the  church  always  travels  in  the  oxen's 
cart."     But  we  bless  God  that  it  does  travel,  and 


240 

an  ox  cart  in  twenty  years  will  make  the  circuit 
of  the  globe. 

And  what  shall  I  say  of  our  friend's  perma- 
nent influence  ?  If  tolerance  in  religion  be  the 
best  fruit  of  the  last  four  hundred  years,  accord- 
ing to  the  words  of  President  Eliot,  written  on 
the  vanished  Peristyle,  then  David  Swing's  con- 
tribution to  the  tolerant  spirit  was  a  large  addi- 
tion to  our  civilization.  Who  has  done  more  to 
make  us  love  those  who  do  not  think  with  us,  and 
to  eradicate  the  notion  that  one's  own  form  of 
goodness  or  faith  must  be  accepted  by  others,  if 
they  are  to  share  our  hope  in  God  and  immor- 
tality ?  He  was  acute  and  broad  enough,  as  some 
are  not,  to  perceive  that  the  truest  spirit  of  toler- 
ance flourishes,  not  only  among  those  who 
believe  but  little,  but  also  among  Christians 
who  believe  very  earnestly  the  general  creed 
which  Christendom  has  proclaimed  through  more 
than  eighteen  centuries.  This  man  helped  to  bring 
us  out  of  the  backwoods  theology,  which  was 
extremely  useful  in  its  time,  but  was  contentious 
and  fitted  to  a  rougher  generation,  and  was  not 
sirfficiently  ethical,  and  was  not  just  either  to  God 
or  man. 


241 

He  suffered,  and  younger  men  have  breathed 
freer  air  because  of  what  he  endured  in  behalf  of 
spiritual  breadth  and  freedom.  Thousands  of 
Presbyterians  will  now  applaud  what  he  said  at 
his  trial.  "Much  as  I  love  Presbyterian  ism,  a 
love  inherited  from  all  my  ancestors,  if,  on 
account  of  it,  it  were  necessary  for  me  to  abate  in 
the  least  my  good  will  toward  all  sects,  I  should 
refuse  to  purchase  the  Presbyterian  name  at  so 
dear  a  price.'1  He  helped  forward  the  movement 
for  revising  the  Westminster  Confession,  and  the 
more  logical  and  important  movement  for  displac- 
ing it  by  a  shorter,  simpler,  more  scriptural  state- 
ment. He  helped  to  make  possible  such  an  exhi- 
bition of  the  grandeur  of  religion  and  the  broth- 
erhood of  all  religious  men,  as  that  which  last 
year,  in  his  own  words,  made  this  lake  shore 
"  almost  roseate  with  the  passing  chariot  of  the 
Infinite." 

Professor  Swing  is  lovingly  praised  by  many 
who  do  not  share  his  theological  views;  and  his 
influence  was  large,  and  will  grow  larger,  over 
many  thoughtful  minds  that  prefer  to  remain 
closer  than  did  he  to  historical  Christianity.  They 
have  learned,  in  part  from  him,  to  look  on  the 


242 

other  side,  on  what  I  may  call  the  ethical  and  lit- 
erary side  of  Christian  truth.  He  was  influenced 
more  by  the  poets  than  by  the  theologians.  It 
has  been  said  by  Dr.  Munger  that  the  greater  lit- 
erature is  prophetic  and  optimistic,  it  is  un- 
worldly, it  stands  squarely  upon  humanity,  its 
inspiration  is  truth,  and  it  is  corrective  of  poor 
thinking,  of  that  which  is  crude,  extravagant, 
superstitious,  hard,  one-sided.  This  influence 
will  continue  to  emancipate  and  illuminate  the 
Christian  mind.  More  men  will  yet  feel  that 
they  will  live  a  truer  and  more  Christly  life  by 
cherishing  gentler  thoughts  of  other  good  men, 
and  by  a  larger  faith  that  the  spirit  of  God  is 
working  everywhere.  You  love  to  hear  his  voice, 
and,  therefore,  listen  to  him  once  more.  "  We  may 
love  our  garden  and  home  tenderly,  but  we  must 
not  trample  down  the  field  of  another;  but  each 
morning  when  the  dew  hangs  upon  our  vines,  we 
must  confess  that  it  glistens  as  well  in  the  parks 
of  our  neighbors,  and  sparkled  before  we  were 
born,  and  will  be  full  of  sunbeams  after  we  are 
dead." 

Now  that  he  has  gone,  how  many  of  us  wish 
that  we  had  known  him  better!      And  yet,  many 


•243 

felt  that  he  Avas  their  friend,  and  that  they  knew 
him  well,  though  they  may  never  have  sat  at  his 
table  or  conversed  with  him  familiarly  of  high 
themes.  Their  souls  have  had  sympathetic  com- 
munion with  his  spirit,  and  every  week  they  have 
talked  with  what  was  best  of  him.  For  several 
years  it  was  my  fortune  to  live  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  poet  Whittier,  and  I  never  thought  it 
needful  to  intrude  myself  into  his  home  in  order 
to  know  him;  for  had  he  not  spoken  his  choicest 
thoughts  to  me  for  twenty  years?  Had  I  not 
fallen  in  love  with  his  "  Maud  Muller "  in  the 
hayfield?  Had  not  his  "  Barefoot  Boy"  been  my 
friend?  Had  I  not  pitched  my  tent  of  imagina- 
tion on  the  Atlantic  beach  with  him,  and  had 
I  not  felt  his  summer-heart  even  when  snow- 
bound in  the  icy  solitudes  of  winter  ?  Had  I  not 
watched  with  the  "Quaker  Poet  "  on  election  eve, 
when  the  fate  of  freedom  was  in  jeopardy,  and 
with  his  childhood's  playmate  had  I  not  felt  the 
Mayday  flowers  "make  sweet  the  woods  of  Folly- 
mill,"  and  had  I  not  heard  "  the  dark  pines  sing 
on  Ramotli  Hill  the  slow  song  of  the  sea?11  Had 
not  his  psalm  been  to  me  like  Davids  ?  And  why 
should  I    look   at  the  features  of  the  "  Hermit 


2U 

Thrush  of  Amesbury  "  to  know  the  music  of  his 
soul? 

All  this  is  true  with  many  of  our  friends.  It 
was  true  of  David  Swing,  and  it  will  remain 
peculiarly  true  now  that  he  has  gone.  He  still 
speaks  to  us,  and  we  may  know  his  inmost  heart; 
his  soul  lies  open  before  us  on  the  printed  pages, 
and  if  that  which  is  keyed  to  universal  truth  is 
not  to  be  outgrown,  why  should  not  men  and 
women  read  for  generations  the  thoughts  of  David 
Swing?  Why  should  they  not  read  him  as  they  do 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  and  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Em- 
erson? Who  can  hope  to  clothe  in  more  beauti- 
ful garments  the  sweetest  forms  of  heavenly 
truth?  Who  will  ever  write  of  the  goodness  of 
God  in  language  more  lucid  and  melodious  than 
his  ?  His  "  Truths  for  To-day  "  are  truths  for  the 
twentieth  century,  and  his  "Motives  of  Life"  are 
more  lasting  than  Karnac  and  the  pyramids. 
Though  his  greatness  was  literary  and  ethical, 
rather  than  theological,  still  he  has  influenced 
the  popular  creeds  more  than  many  theologians. 

We  bid  farewell  to  a  gracious  spirit  whose 
outward  form  we  shall  not  see,  and,  while  we 
mourn  an  irreparable  loss,  we  count  also  his  ineff- 


•245 

:able  gain.  He  has  crossed  the  bar,  and  it  was 
peaceful  and  beautiful.  He  has  met  his  Pilot 
face  to  face,  and  has  entered  the  haven  and  found 
the  heavenly  shore  in  the  great  mystery  beyond, 
many -peopled  with  those  whom  he  loved  and 
who  were  glad  to  welcome  him.  The  happy 
immortality  which  he  preached  is  a  dearer  delight 
to  him  than  to  most  men.  He  has  found  selectest 
company  there,  whose  thoughts  were  sweet  to 
him  on  earth.  If  we  could  have  followed  his 
spirit's  night  we  might  have  seen  something  to 
remind  us  of  the  vision  which  King  Arthur's 
friend  had  of  his  passing  out  of  sight — 

"  Then  from  the  dawn  it  seemed  there  came,  but  faint, 
As  from  beyond  the  limit  of  the  world, 
Like  the  last  echo  born  of  a  great  cry, 
Sounds  as  if  some  fair  city  were  one  voice, 
Around  a  king  returning  from  his  wars." 

He  has  had  a  choral  welcome  there.  All  the 
chief  friends  who  stood  by  him  at  the  time  of 
his  sorest  earthly  discipline  greet  him  yonder, 
and  what  multitudes  besides !  May  the  power  of 
that  endless  life  into  which  he  has  entered  abide 
with  us!  A  leader  of  thought,  a  prophet  of  the 
gentle  humanities  of  Jesus,  has  fallen,  and  the 
old  places  which  he  loved  here  are  desolate. 


246 

The  October  leaves  will  cover  paths  where  he 
used  to  walk,  winter  will  spread  her  white  man- 
tle over  the  earth,  and  spring,  which  he  so  loved, 
will  come  again  and  clothe  the  field  with  grass 
and  blossoms;  but  he  will  not  see  them,  nor  the 
summer  flowers,  which  seem  to  live  in  his  speech. 
But  we  believe  that  his  is  an  eternal  springtime, 
or  a  beautiful,  unending  summer,  and  that  more 
than  all  the  loveliness  which  he  knew  on  earth 
shall  be  his  forever.  A  still  living  master  in 
Israel  has  written:  "There  is  only  one  gathering 
place  of  the  great  and  good  which  shall  never  be 
left  desolate;  only  the  shade  of  the  Tree  of  Life 
shall  be  always  refreshing;  only  the  stream  from 
the  Fountain  of  Life  shall  flow  on  without  end.11 


Gbe  poet  jpreacber. 

a  Sermon  oeltvereD  b£  H>r.  Emil  (3.  Ibirscb,  IRabbi  of 
Sinai  Gemple. 

Among  Biblical  heroes,  none  has  whetted  the 
imagination  of  later  generations  to  the  degree 
that  Solomon  has.  The  bare  outlines  of  his  life 
as  given  in  the  Biblical  record  seem  but  a  shadowy 
fringe  to  the  glory  of  the  sun  which  loving  fancy 
dreamt  had  risen  with  this  monarch's  reign  to 
bless  Israel.  He  was  accredited  with  wonderful 
gifts.  He  understood  the  whispered  speech  of 
the  stars,  the  soft  pleadings  of  the  forests;  he 
knew  the  secrets  of  the  birds  as  they  were  war- 
bled forth  from  bough  to  bough ;  what  the  ants  in 
their  council  of  Avar  buried  in  the  deepest  of  their 
hearts,  Solomon  was  believed  to  have  unraveled; 
the  rivers  ran  but  to  tell  him  of  their  message 
and  their  ambition,  and  to  inform  him  of  the 
commission  with  which  they  were  charged;  he 
understood  all  the  languages  that  were  spoken 
under  heaven's  dome,  and  had  power  to  command 
energies  generally  jealously  guarded  from  the 
possession  and  ken  of  human  minds.  And  more 
than  this,  it  is  said  in  the  legends  recording  the 

247 


248 

wonder-deeds  of  this  Jewish  king,  that  when  he 
brought  the  holy  ark  into  the  temple,  the  very 
cedar  wood  which  clothed  the  walls  began  to 
bloom  again,  and,  as  long  as  Solomon  reigned, 
the  freshness  of  this  transplanted  denizen  of  the 
heights  never  waned  or  even  gave  signs  of 
withering. 

All  comparisons,  of  course,  halt;  and  still,  for 
one  who  knows  these  legendary  and  fanciful 
portraits  of  the  Eastern  monarch,  the  suggestion 
is  ready  at  hand  that  one  who  had  like  gifts  has 
departed  from  our  midst.  Solomon,  famous  for 
his  wisdom,  had  powers  not  greater  than  in  the 
providence  of  God  were  given  unto  him  to  do 
honor  to  whose  memory  we  are  gathered  here 
this  morning.  Like  unto  Solomon  he  knew  the 
speech  of  the  trees  and  the  tongues  of  the  running 
brooks;  like  unto  Solomon  of  the  fable  when  he 
entered  the  temple,  the  very  cedar  wood  began 
to  bloom,  and  as  long  as  he  was  present  in  the 
sanctuary  the  freshness  did  not  pale  and  the  per- 
fume did  not  grow  less.  A  miracle  was  wrought 
by  his  very  tongue,  and  stone  gave  response,  as 
it  were,  to  the  pleadings  of  the  softer  human 
heart. 


249 

The  first  hours  of  pungent  grief  always  are 
heavy  with  the  dull  sense  of  a  great  loss.  But 
perhaps  the  loss  is  but  apparent,  and  the  gain  is 
all  the  more  permanent.  Ours,  then,  is  the  duty 
to  measure  our  loss  and  balance  it  over  against 
the  permanent  possession  left  in  sacred  trust  with 
us  by  this  life  now  closed.  And  yet  we  must 
confess  that  none  there  is  who  can  do  justice  to 
its  fullness  of  gifts  and  powers.  Yea,  we  must 
be  modest  and  remember  that  perhaps  posterity 
alone  can  gauge  the  influences  for  good  this  life 
sent  forth  in  this  large  country.  While  we 
merely  may  lay  the  finger  on  the  roots,  our  chil- 
dren will  find  shade  and  refreshment  under  the 
crown  of  the  tree  developed  into  beauty. 

Is  not  genius  like  those  mighty  rivers  whose 
sources  are  the  constant  anxiety  of  geographical 
explorers  ?  However  far  we  may  penetrate  into 
the  caverns  of  their  icy  birthplaces,  the  actual 
spot  whence  they  bubble  out  and  the  real  secret 
of  their  mighty  sweep  eludes  forever  the  grasp 
of  the  diligent  searcher. 

Who  has  laid  his  finger  on  the  cradle  of 
Khine  or  Danube?  None.  Who  can  tell  us 
why  the  Nile  carries  its  strength  ?     None.    Who, 


•250 

why  and  how  Congo  was  ushered  into  life?  As 
yet,  none.  Like  these  rivers,  genius  forever  is 
an  unread  riddle.  However  far  we  may  push 
back  in  our  climb  up  the  heights  to  the  sources, 
there  remains  mystery  unsolved,  for  genius  is 
powerful  reflection  of  light  divine,  is  revelation 
of  God  himself. 

And  so,  in  this  our  search  for  the  mighty 
sources  of  that  river  which  has  given  refreshing 
waters  to  many  thirsting  lips,  and  has  wooed 
forth  flowers  along  many  a  bank  and  strand,  we 
are  confronted  with  the  old  despair,  if  despair  it 
be,  that  genius1  birthplace  is  curtained  off  from 
the  eye  of  man;  it  is  in  the  holy  of  holies  where 
God's  presence  abideth  and  into  which  even  high 
priest  can  not  penetrate  except  with  downcast 
face  and  in  humble  and  unknowing  reverence. 

None  can  tell  whence  the  power  came  to  our 
friend  gone  from  us.  Nevertheless,  there  is  boot 
in  the  expedition  up  the  heights;  although  the 
actual  source  be  forever  withheld  from  our 
knowledge,  we  can  trace  the  progress  of  the 
river  after  it  has  freed  itself  from  the  mother 
embrace  of  the  Alpine  range.  We  would  not 
presume  to  lay  bare  the  curtained   cradle  of  his 


251 

strength  and  miglit  and  beauty — we  would  mod- 
estly inquire  into  the  currents  contributory  to 
his  reservoir  of  power  and  might  for  good  in  our 
generation. 

The  law  seems  to  be  well  nigh  universal  that 
genius,  at  birth,  is  not  beckoned  to  broad  road- 
beds, but  has  to  thread  its  way,  a  narrow  rill, 
down  rough  and  steep  mountain  slopes.  Our 
old  Talmudic  sages  proverb  this  observation 
when  they  say:  "Have  ye  heed  unto  the  chil- 
dren of  the  poor,  for  from  them  shall  go  forth 
the  light  of  truth.11  The  exceptions  to  the  rule 
prove  the  law.  It  is  generally  from  the  gloom 
of  poverty  that  the  brightness  of  genius  shines 
forth  —  ease  and  affluence  are  not  necessarily 
adverse  to  the  formation  of  character  and  unto- 
ward to  the  steeling  of  ruder  metal  into  elas- 
ticity, but  certain  it  is  that,  where  the  divine  tire 
is  slumbering,  the  fans  of  poverty  woo  the  blaze 
to  break  forth,  while  the  softer  zephyrs  of  afflu- 
ence seem  more  frequently  to  be  fated  to  lull 
to  sleep  the  smouldering  ember  underneath  the 
ashes.  So  many  of  our  greatest  men  in  Israel 
were  kissed  awake  by  the  light,  midst  the  dusk  of 
contracted  outward  circumstances.     And  outside 


252 

of  Israel,  in  America,  the  galaxy  of  fame  is  stud- 
ded with  stars  whose  first  beam  fell  not  from 
vaulted  window  of  palace,  but  from  the  low 
opening  of  cottage  and  hut. 

As  a  rule,  it  is  not  the  city,  again,  with  its 
luxurious  wealth  of  refining  influences,  but  it  is 
the  country,  apparently  poor  in  all  those  things 
which  make  for  culture,  that  wings  to  flight 
innate  poetic  inspiration,  and  voices  to  preach  and 
prophesy  natural,  sturdy,  ethical  enthusiasm. 
Most  of  the  poets  of  America  were  children  of 
the  open  country — held  communion  in  their  early 
days  with  the  laughing  brooklet  and  the  growing 
flower,  the  green  meadow,  the  sweet-scented 
clover,  the  struggling  corn,  the  swaying  wheat, 
the  waving  forest,  the  singing  bird,  the  silence  of 
wooded  dell  and  the  mystery  of  the  tangled 
ravine ;  not  in  the  bustle  and  din  and  confusion 
and  distraction  of  town,  where  commerce  drives 
her  chariots  and  selfishness  celebrates  her  tri- 
umphs, does  it  seem  possible  to  nursery  these 
tender  children  of  light  and  love,  of  budding 
song  and  burning  righteousness.  In  the  purer, 
even  if  poorer,  surroundings  of  country  hamlet — 
in  its   hard  school  of  struggle,  in  the  farmer's 


253 

experience,  appear  to  lie  the  conditions  favorable 
for  the  growth  of  wider  sympathies  and  the 
quickening  of  the  mind  toward  truth  and  beauty. 
Our  lamented  friend  and  teacher  adds  another 
name  to  the  long  roster  of  men  come  to  eminence 
from  self-respecting  poverty,  who  had  slaked 
their  thirst  for  refinement,  though  the  wells  of 
their  early  country  home  promised  but  a  scant 
flow  of  these  living  waters.  He  had  indeed  the 
gift  of  Solomon.  He  understood  the  speech  of 
tree  and  the  sermon  of  running  brook.  The  dia- 
lect in  which  the  queen  bee  marshaled  her  golden 
cuirassed  host  was  not  a  foreign  tongue  to  him, 
as  was  not  the  jargon  of  the  ants  legislating  for 
their  busy  clan.  He  was  the  bosom  friend  of 
flower;  he  had  mastered  the  secret  of  nature's 
changing  robes;  he  had  often  been  a  guest  in  the 
chamber  where  are  stored  the  garments,  lacy  or 
fleecy  or  ermine-seamed  or  flower-garlanded,  of 
the  seasons.  Whence  to  him  such  wonderful 
knowledge?  From  his  early  days,  from  the 
schooling  of  the  hours  when  he,  a  farmer's  boy, 
followed  the  plow  and  handled  the  hoe  and  the 
rake.  Yea,  no  academy  in  town  could  have  given 
him  this  understanding;  to  the  last  of  his  days, 


254 

in  all  that  he  uttered  and  in  all  that  he  thought, 
breathed  the  fresh  fragrance,  the  purity  of  the 
country  sky.  Here  one  of  the  sources,  though 
not  the  source,  of  his  power;  for  behind  this 
knowledge  of  the  language  of  nature  was  his 
mind,  a  revelation  of  the  divine  and,  therefore, 
mystery  shrouded  from  human  analysis  forever. 

The  farmer's  boy,  reading  and  interpreting 
nature's  signs  and  symbols,  became  a  poet.  Hard 
science  reads  the  inscription  of  the  stars  in  terms 
of  a  fearful  struggle — each  planet  whirled  along 
by  the  impulse  of  self-preservation,  opposing 
with  all  of  its  volume  the  attraction  of  other 
heavenly  wanderers — and  as  the  planetary  system 
is  kept  agoing  by  the  lubrication  of  struggle  and 
strife,  so  science,  wherever  her  torch  lights  up  the 
nooks  and  corners,  points  us  to  a  battle  field — a 
warfare  that  knows  no  truce — a  bristling  camp 
deaf  to  the  sweeter  carol  of  peace,  or  the  consol- 
ing choral  intoned  after  the  fray  and  fight  is  o'er. 
For  the  sciences  can  only  analyze,  and  analysis 
is  dissolution — decomposition.  A  flower  before 
the  bar  of  the  sciences  is  calyx,  pistil,  stamen, 
anther,  pollen,  carpel.  The  flower  as  a  whole, 
with  its  message  of  beauty  and  of  peace,  science 


L'OD 


knoweth  not  and  regardeth  not.  Where  this 
scientific  spirit  of  analysis  prevails  exclusively 
and  points  the  compass  for  life's  ocean,  the  mean- 
ing of  world  necessarily  is  set  in  a  minor  key. 
War  unending,  never  eventing  into  peace, — 
should  this  not  burden  a  human  soul  ?  What  is 
this  universe  then  but  a  vast  machinery  without 
purpose,  without  harmony  even — a  chaos  spinning 
along,  we  know  not  why  and  we  can  not  tell  to 
what  issue  ? 

But  what  the  scientist  disregardeth,  for  it  is 
not  his  concern  to  pay  it  court,  that  the  poet 
remembereth,  and  where  he,  whose  eye  is  weap- 
oned  with  telescope  or  spectroscope  or  microscope, 
sees  but  the  fearful  scars  of  an  endless  struggle 
for  existence,  the  poet,  his  eyes  turned  inwardly, 
beholds  beauty  and  harmony.  The  love -tipped 
tongue  of  the  poet  sings  the  anthem  of  peace. 
The  world  is  not  enfolded  in  darkness,  but  is 
afloat  in  an  ocean  of  lisrht.  Love's  tokens  abound 
everywhere,  we  need  but  open  our  eyes  to  its 
beaming,  playful,  helpful  and  hopeful  beckon- 
ing. 

The  farmer's  boy  who  had  learned  in  the 
schooling  of  his  poor  home — poor  in  externali- 


256 

ties,  rich  in  the  eternalities  of  life — to  read 
aright  by  the  key  of  love  and  light  the  hiero- 
glyphics of  sky  and  soil,  could  not  become  the 
exponent  of  a  creed  of  despair,  nor  the  messenger 
of  the  call  that  we  are  doomed.  He  had  to  herald 
that  view  of  life  and  of  nature  which  exults  that 
man  from  good  proceeds  to  better,  and  that  the 
heavens  are  constantly  unfolding  new  miracles, 
as  the  fields  are  intoning  new  melodies,  in 
swelling  chorus  praising  a  just  and  good  God 
who  leadeth  all  unto  peace  and  final  harmony. 

Professor  Swing's  creed  was  that  of  an  opti- 
mist, and  one  of  the  roots  of  his  unshaken  and 
unshakable  optimism  is  his  early  life  that  led  him 
to  know  nature,  as  few  are  privileged  to  know 
her,  in  the  glory  of  the  flowers  in  the  garden  and 
the  greatness  of  that  mysterious  goodness  which 
awakens  from  the  seed  the  blossom  and  fruit,  and 
again  husks  in  the  bud  and  fruit  the  seed  for  a 
new  life — an  unending  life.  And  if  his  farmer- 
boy  days  thus  led  him  to  solve  the  equation  of 
world  in  terms  of  ordered  beauty,  his  book  studies 
later  confirmed  the  impression  of  his  early  years. 
Know  ye  that  there  was  not  in  the  whole  of 
America  a  greater  classical  scholar  than  he  upon 


257 

wlmse  lips  Sunday  after  Sunday  the  thousands 
hung  with  hunger  of  soul  and  in  reverential 
admiration.  The  farmer  boy  of  our  western  Ohio 
valley  was  a  great  student  of  Athens  and  of 
Rome;  knowing  his  Virgil  as  but  few  knew  him, 
and  his  Plato  as  but  few  understood  him;  at 
home  in  the  Roman  senate  as  in  the  Greek  areop- 
agus — ^Eschylus  his  daily  companion  and  JEneas 
the  bosom  friend  of  his  hours  of  study!  A  mir- 
acle, this,  almost,  and  yet  truth  and  fact.  Not 
that  there  are  not  greater  philological  scholars  in 
this  country  or  elsewhere,  but  philology  is  always 
busy  with  the  dry  bones.  It  construes  and  scans. 
It  compares  broken  syllable  with  fragmentary 
accent.  This  "  dry-as-dust"  method  has  been  the 
curse  of  classical  studies  in  Germany,  and  is 
beginning  to  stretch  forth  its  octopus-like  arms 
for  new  victims  in  our  own  schools.  For  soon 
will  arise  those  among  us  to  trumpet  their  find  of 
an  abnormal  dative  whereto  to  moor  a  new  phil- 
ological system!  I  am  afraid  lest,  while  they  are 
rattling  these  dry  bones,  the  living  spark  of  classic 
culture  be  hidden  from  their  blind  eyes. 

Among  this  tribe  of  word  anatomists  Swing 
can  not  be  reckoned.    For  him  classic  culture  was 


258 

an  organic  whole,  and  in  the  temple  of  this  rnany- 
mansioned  Nautilus  he  was  a  reverent  minister. 
Greece,  the  people  of  beauty,  had  won  his  affec- 
tion, and  if  any  there  ever  was  that  appreciated 
the  graces  of  the  Greek  muses,  it  was  he.  Beauty 
he  had  found  in  furrowed  fields,  and  beauty's  echo 
set  ahumming  his  heart's  harpstrings,  through 
Homer  and  iEschylus  and  Sophocles  and  Demos- 
thenes and  Plato  and  Aristotle.  This  universe  is 
a  cosmos,  beautiful  harmony,  is  their  jubilant 
affirmation.  His  studies  in  literature  confirmed 
and  complemented  what  the  impressions  of  his 
early  days  had  suggested.  His  mastership  in 
classic  lore  is  the  second  root  of  his  optimism. 

Poets  are  always  optimists.  Pessimism  never 
yet  has  found  a  poetic  voice.  Perhaps  one  or  the 
other  may  have  enriched  literature  with  dirge  or 
lament.  But  even  benighted  Lenau  in  Germany 
and  Leopardi  in  Italy  do  not  disprove  the  con- 
tention that  the  poetic  temper  is  essentially  hope- 
ful. The  true  poets  have  always  clarioned  forth 
the  creed  that  through  the  apparent  strife  events 
harmony,  that  night  is  prelude  and  pledge  of  more 
radiant  day.  Beauty,  and  the  creed  that  all 
things  are  for  the  good,  are  factors  of  one  equa- 


259 

tion.  Our  friend  who  was  at  home  in  "the  gar- 
den,"  and  uthe  academy1'  of  that  wonderful 
people  to  whom  we  owe  most  of  the  elements  of 
our  culture — indeed  found  corroborated  by  the 
genius  of  art  what  the  rougher  touch  of  rustic 
tool  had  before  taught  him  to  read  in  the  dia- 
logues of  the  heavenly  company,  in  the  epos  and 
lyric  written  in  flowers  and  in  ferns  on  the 
stretching  and  waving  slopes  of  his  home  valley. 

Student  of  antiquity  as  he  was,  Professor  Swing 
could  not  become  a  pessimist.  The  farmer  boy, 
greatest  of  classical  scholars,  had  been  touched 
by  the  live  coal  from  the  altar  dedicated  to  a 
belief  in  progress  toward  ultimate  harmony,  and 
in  the  intrinsic  essential  goodness  and  beauty  of 
life,  and  in  the  unfolding  purpose  of  God  through 
individual  experience,  and  His  guidance  of  the 
nations  across  the  span  of  the  ages. 

That  as  a  theologian  the  man  so  prepared 
would  not  make  of  religion  a  mere  archaeological 
museum  of  antediluvian  specimens  stands  to 
reason.  Loyal  he  was  to  the  last  to  the  church 
of  his  early  days.  Not  that  he  treasured  the 
dead  formulae  of  creed  as  unbroken  vases  of  truth, 
but   he   became   the   mouthpiece   and  translator 


260 

for  thousands  of  what  is  and  was  the  most 
valuable  possession  of  his  sect.  Strange  it  is,  but 
nevertheless  one  may  say  it  without  fear  of  con- 
tradiction, it  was  the  suspected  heretic  who 
brought  about  the  recognition  by  an  ever -increas- 
ing multitude  of  thinking  men  and  women  of 
the  best  his  mother  church  had  been  the  guar- 
dian of. 

Say  whatever  you  will  about  Calvinism;  say 
that  it  is  somber  and  suspicious  of  men ;  that  it  is 
narrow  and  uncharitable, — this  one  pretension 
history  verifies,  and  those  that  are  free  from  bias 
must  own  that  Puritan  texture  is  woven  of  a  strong 
moral  fiber;  that  in  the  hard  discipline  of  life,  of 
self-discipline,  curbing  alike  his  love  and  his  pas- 
sions, the  Puritan  trains  himself  to  be  true  to  the 
supreme  and  eternal  law — "  Thou  oughtest."  In 
the  ungainliest  garble  of  the  Calvinistic  creed, 
there  is,  to  him  who  looks  beneath  the  surface, 
stored  away  a  wealth  of  ethical  dower  which  softer 
creeds  and  less  cramped  definitions  lack,  or  at 
least  are  not  as  insistent  to  emphasize. 

In  this  sense,  the  farmer  boy  of  the  Ohio  valley, 
the  student  of  the  Miami  University,  the  classical 
scholar,  the  poet  of  the  world  of  beauty,  devel- 


261 

oped  to  be  perhaps  the  most  loyal  son  of  the  church 
which  first  led  him  to  God's  altars  and  taught  him 
to   stammer   the   sacred   words:    God,    love  and 
immortality  and  Savior.    Through  all  of  his  later, 
as  of  his  earlier  sermons,  rings  and  runs  an  ethical 
spirit,   bold  and   deep  and  sweet  withal.     And 
when  he  found  that  his  church  was  apt  to  cling 
to  externals  and  sacrifice  the  eternal  verities  of  its 
historic  mission,  of  his  own  resolution  he  left  his 
parental   communion,   but  it  was  with    a    heavy 
heart.     He  himself,  perhaps,  was  not  fully  con- 
scious of  the  gap,  which   widened  as  the  years 
lengthened,  between  him  and  his  early  religious 
aifiliations.      It  was  not  he,  at  all   events,  that 
delighted  in  the  breach.     Swing  is  the  exponent 
of  the  inner  forces  quickening  within  the  Puritan 
form   of  presentation,   and   as   an    iconoclast,    if 
iconoclast  he  be,  he  belongs  to  those, — as  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  said  of  Emerson — that  have  no 
hammer.     He  removed  the  idols  with  such  tender 
touch  that  the  very  removal  seemed  an  act  of  wor- 
ship and  of  reverence.      The    prophet  niay    be 
weaponed  with  hammer — the  poet  is  with  harp. 
Which  will  succeed  \     Who  knoweth  I     Each  one 
has  mission  and  scope  and  duty  and  call,  but  cer- 


262 

tain  it  is  that  the  harp's  invitation  will  be  more 
readily  accepted  than  the  hammer's  clank,  and 
that  the  softer  transmission  and  the  tenderer  transi- 
tion will  be  less  of  shock  than  the  bold  surgeon's 
knife  which  cuts  atwain  the  new-born  child  from 
the  old  yet  loving  mother. 

The  poet  sang  the  fulfillment  of  the  prophecy 
of  his  own  religious  youth  in  tones  so  sweet  that 
none  knew,  and  perhaps  he  not  himself,  that  idols 
were  falling  and  altars  were  crumbling,  that  a 
new  world  was  rising — and  still  it  was  he  who 
sang  the  birth  song  of  this  new  world  which  nec- 
essarily is  the  burial  song  of  the  old,  but  in  the 
angel's  measure,  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  peace  on  earth 
to  men  of  good  will!" 

As  a  theologian,  Swing  merely  carried  out  his 
poetic  mission;  he  was  the  reformer  who  con- 
ciliated, led  on  but  did  not  estrange — he  was 
the  focal  point  where  two  worlds  met,  each 
receiving  from  him  rich  tribute  of  love,  rever- 
ence, light,  but  each  hearing  from  his  lips  the 
call  for  new  and  higher  possibilities.  It  is  often 
thought  by  many  who  are  thoughtless,  that  lib- 
eralism, to  be  liberalism,  must  be  negative;  that 
the   true    liberal    must    deny    God,    Providence, 


263 

immortality.  And  it  is  often  deemed  strange,  if 
not  an  inconsistency,  by  men  who  are  not  Chris- 
tians and  never  have  been  under  the  influence  of 
an  early  Christian  education,  that  liberal  men  in 
the  Christian  pulpit  will  continue  to  speak  of 
the  Christ  and  will  not  cease  laying  the  immor- 
telles of  reverent  affectionate  love  at  the  feet  of 
the  thorn -crowned  prophet  of  Nazareth.  Such 
pseudo-liberalism  of  mere  denial  betrays  only 
the  ignorance  of  him  who  professing  it  in  self- 
sufficient  conceit  would  criticise  as  inconsistent  or 
disloyal  the  positive  assertions  of  others,  who,  to 
say  the  least,  are  as  liberal  as  he — yea,  more  lib- 
eral than  he,  because,  while  he  does  not  under- 
stand, they  do  understand  that  the  pathway  of 
progressive  truth  is  evolution  and  not  revolution. 
Is  there  so  much  new  truth,  after  all?  The 
unfolding  process  of  liberalizing  is,  indeed,  but  a 
process  of  deepening  and  broadening  the  old 
river,  which  at  first,  indeed,  was  a  narrow  rill, 
but  is,  even  in  the  moment  of  its  juncture  with 
the  ocean,  still  the  child  of  the  earlier  days  and 
of  the  distant  mountain  peak.  The  Rhine  is  one 
from  his  Gothard  birthplace  to  the  Holland 
burial  place — is  one,  if  narrow  at  first  and  broad 


2(54 

at  last — is  one  throughout  the  length  of  his 
winding  course.  And  so  is  the  current  of  truth 
and  liberal  unfolding  of  truth  but  the  sweep  of 
one  stream.  Truth  digs  its  own  new  channels 
and  feeds  them  from  the  parental  stream. 

We  do  not  announce  a  new  truth — we  preach 
the  old  truth,  if  possible  deepened  and  broad- 
ened and  burnished  and  purified.  But  before 
Ave  were,  the  prophet  had  professed.  It  was  not 
we  that  found  or  formulated  the  announcement 
of  the  better  life ;  Isaiah  and  his  school  had 
sounded  it  before  we  were  born.  All  the  prin- 
ciples of  society  to  be  re -constituted  to-day  are 
contained  in  the  sermon  of  Isaiah  and  his  like. 

Historical  continuity  is  the  condition  of  lib- 
eral, truly  liberal,  work  for  fruitage.  This  con- 
dition the  liberal  may  not  disregard  if  his  labor 
"be  other  than  the  mere  removing  of  ruins  and 
the  making  of  room  for  others.  In  this  spirit 
our  poet  preacher  of  beauty  plowed  and  planted. 
Asa  poet  he  could  not  make  the  universe  equal 
to  a  tantalizing  zero,  or  a  negative.  He  read  its 
higher  value  as  the  revelation  of  God ;  without 
attempting  to  define  God  or  to  confine  him,  he 
found  him  in  the  play  of  those  wonderful  forces 


265 

round  about  us.  And  in  the  steps  by  which 
humanity  scaled  the  heights  and  arrived  at  its 
present  position,  he  recognized  the  working  of 
him,  not  ourselves,  making  for  righteousness. 
He 

"  Doubted  not  that  thro'  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose 

runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widen' d  with  the  process  of 

the  suns." 

The  poet  must  be  God-intoxicated,  and  God- 
intoxicated  was  Swing.  His  liberalism  therefore 
was  of  true  fiber.  Atheist  is  not  liberal.  Atheist 
at  best  is  the  scavenger  that  removes  mud  and 
dirt  and  filth.  But  to  plant  the  flowers  more  is 
needed  than  the  dung-hill  and  what  the  dung- 
hill holds.  To  woo  the  flower  into  beauty  there 
needs  much  more  than  the  phosphates  —  there 
needs  the  seed  of  the  flower.  Has  atheism  ever 
scattered  seed  or  ripened  fruit?  It  owns  what 
the  garbage  box  can  furnish  and  nothing  more. 

Yea,  the  truest,  the  most  liberal  men  are  God- 
intoxicated.  Many  churches  may  idol  a  God  that 
is  not  God.  If  atheism  is  content  to  be  protest 
against  this  fetichism  one  may  bear  with  it, 
though  not  with  its  illiberal  arrogance!  But  when 


266 

atheism  would  lay  its  heavy  hand  on  the  altar  of 
nobler  truth  and  on  the  truer  service  unto  the 
living  God,  shall  sound  forth  the  warning:  "Stay! 
lest  thy  hand  be  paralyzed,"  as  was  the  hand,  in 
the  story  of  the  Bible,  of  him  who  touched  impi- 
ously God's  own  ark.  God  is.  Such  is  the  wit- 
ness of  the  ages,  their  song  and  prophecy.  And 
this  God  the  liberal — this  God  our  Professor 
Swing  did  preach  Sunday  after  Sunday.  This 
beautiful  world  is  not  the  play-ground  of  blind 
chance,  but  is  the  symbol  of  a  mind  all  engrasp- 
ing,  and  the  sign  of  a  love  all  enfolding. 

And  this  life  can  not  be  the  end,  is  the  second 
stanza  of  the  poet's  lay  of  hope.  This  is  also  the 
assurance  of  the  thinker  whose  philosophy  would 
complete  the  segment  visible  into  the  whole 
circle!  Kant,  a  second  Columbus,  in  his  discovery 
of  a  new  continent  in  the  ocean  of  thought,  a  new 
world  conception,  vaticinates,  for  all  his  pure 
reason,  of  the  immortality  of  soul;  as  indeed 
every  poet  has  sung  it  from  the  heart;  every 
troubled  and  perplexed  mind  crying  out  in  the 
night  for  the  light  has  found  in  this  hope  comfort. 
Our  immortal  friend,  messenger  of  beauty,  could 
not  believe  and  did  not  believe  that  after  this  life 


267 

there  would  be  less  of  beauty — or  less  of  light; 
that  sun  and  day  would  issue  into  primeval  dark- 
ness and  gloom.  If  thought  alone  had  not  whis- 
pered the  brighter  conception,  his  sense  of  beauty 
would  have  led  him  on  to  know  and  feel  that  the 
stars  will  twinkle  on  and  the  sun  will  shine  on  in 
the  beyond,  wherever  we  may  be. 

But  as  in  his  God  belief  he  did  not  dogmatize, 
so  in  his  immortality  belief  he  did  not  presume 
to  draft  the  architectural  design  of  that  heavenly 
home  or  to  regulate  the  details  of  admission  or 
exclusion.  He  was  impatient  of  all  such  arro- 
gance. His  poetic  soul  uttered  its  deepest  convic- 
tions, and  in  imparting  them  to  man  and  world 
he  found  stay  and  staff  and  satisfaction. 

And  he  believed  in  Christ.  Why  should  he 
not  ?  Who  would  deny  that  that  name  tokens  for 
millions  the  best  that  world  has  ever  seen  or  will 
see?  But  the  Christ  he  taught  was  not  a  fact  so 
much  as  a  force.  It  was  not  a  Christ  that  once 
had  risen  from  the  grave,  but  a  Christ  that  is  still 
rising  from  the  sepulchre.  His  gospel  was  not  a 
redemption  that  once  had  taken  place,  but  a 
redemption  that  is  to  take  place  now,  every  day. 
The  Christ,  as  preached  by  Swing,  is  one  way  of 


268 

stating  the  belief,  which  is  certainly  ours,  in  the 
continued  life  of  love  in  man  and  through  man  in 
humanity.  .  Christ  to  the  Christian  is  the  sublime 
formula  hallowed  by  age  and  haloed  by  reverence. 
The  sterner  reformer,  perhaps,  wielding  the  ax 
which  Abraham  laid  to  the  fathers1  idols,  might 
not  have  used  the  old  term.  But  blessed  be  his 
use  of  the  old  term,  for  had  he  used  another,  many 
ears  would  have  been  deaf  to  his  message  that 
now  were  opened  to  the  sweeter  call  of  the  better 
future  through  the  Christlike  life  and  the  Christ- 
like power  for  all  the  eternities.  And  he  believed 
that  in  the  personal  Jesus  was  foreshadowed  the 
peace  of  all  good  to  be;  he  was  certain  that  the 
words  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  prophet  of 
Nazareth  contained  in  an  intensity  shared  by  the 
words  of  no  other  mortal  the  essence  of  the 
divine,  that  the  one  life  in  Jerusalem  and  the  one 
death  on  Golgotha  were  type  of  the  life  of 
humanity  and  its  death  unto  a  newer  and  nobler 
life. 

Christ  is,  after  all,  an  ideal.  Each  one  has 
his  own  God,  and  each  one  builds  his  own  Christ. 
I  have  a  Christ  in  whom  I  believe,  and  so  have 
you.     We  may  perhaps  not  call  it  with  a  Greek 


.     269 

name,  "Christ11 — we  may  use  the  old  Hebrew 
word  "Messiah11;  but  whosoever  would  from  the 
imperfect  proceed  to  the  perfect,  must  be  tilled 
with  the  messianic  spirit!  Swing  construed  for 
himself  his  Jesus.  The  critical  scholar  of  the 
German  school  may,  perhaps,  have  shaken  his  head 
and  had  this  to  object  to  and  that  to  find  fault 
with;  and  the  old  orthodox,  perhaps,  may  have 
joined  the  liberal  of  the  Dutch  and  German  uni- 
versities and  pointed  out  here  want  of  logic  and 
there  want  of  deiiniteness.  What  mattered  that 
to  the  poet?  The  artist  painted  a  Christ  so  per- 
fect that  whoever  beheld  his  face  was  lifted  up 
and  inspired.  The  Christology  of  Swing,  as 
much  as  anything  that  he  did,  belongs  to  the 
domain  of  the  arts,  and  Canon  Farrar,  writing 
his  book  on  Christ,  as  conceived  by  artists,  might 
add  a  chapter  on  the  Christ  conception  of  Swing. 
Happy  the  age  that  treasures  his  Christ  con- 
ception. Happy  the  generation  that  is  eager  to 
behold  this  bright  ideal  outlook  and  uplook  into 
the  possibilities  of  a  redemption  of  man  as 
pointed  to  by  the  poet  whose  harp  is,  alas!  now 
broken,  and  whose  song  is,  alas!  now  hushed  in 
silence. 


270 

The  theologian  was  but  the  frame  of  the  man, 
and  the  man  eclipsed  in  his  glory  the  theologian. 
Not  that  Swing  was  not  yeoman  or  did  not  take 
yeoman's  part  in  attack  or  defense.  His  rapier 
was  sharp  at  point  and  at  edge,  but  so  good  a 
fencer  was  he  that  when  he  thrust  the  opponent 
felt  no  pain. 

He  was  a  great  humorist,  and  withal  a 
keen  satirist.  The  poet  of  beauty  makes  light 
of  the  faults  of  men,  of  the  small  touches 
of  black  that  at  intervals  discolor  a  beautiful 
field  of  glow.  The  world  is  beautiful,  and  life 
is  unto  beauty,  and  God  leads  the  world  unto 
justice,  and  Christ  rises  from  the  grave  to  free 
men  from  the  shackles  of  slavery.  Why,  then, 
lose  patience  with  the  faults  and  follies  of  men  ? 
Let  us  laugh  them  away.  This  is  the  natural 
conclusion  of  the  poet  temperament,  and  so  our 
poet  preacher  laughed  the  faults  of  men  away 
and  the  frailties  of  women.  In  his  polemics,  his 
humor  and  his  satire,  keen  and  sharp,  and  yet 
unoffending,  stood  him  in  good  stead.  Who  has 
characterized  the  ingrained  stolidity  of  current 
theology  better  than  he  did  even  in  his  last  utter- 
ance?    It  travels  in  an  ox -cart  when  all  other 


271 

thought  is  whirling  along  in  an  electric  chariot. 
An  ox -cart  may  be  said  to  circuit  the  world  in 
twenty  years — but  an  electric  chariot  covers  the 
distance  in  eighty  days  perhaps,  and  we  would 
rather  go  with  the  electric  chariot  than  with  the 
slow  and  steady  ox  cart.  So  might  be  piled  one 
upon  the  other  countless  quaint  but  telling  effects 
of  his  humor,  all  classic  in  construction  and 
barbed  to  have  results  which  the  bolder  attack 
of  passion  can  not  boast,  even  in  its  greatest  suc- 
cesses. 

It  almost  goes  without  saying  that  our  lamented 
guide  and  teacher  was  never  so  eloquent  as 
when  he  pleaded  for  justice;  that  his  sympathies 
bubbled  forth  a  crystal  spring  to  refresh  those 
that  were  down-trodden.  As  Jews,  especially, 
owe  we  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  his  memory.  He 
spoke  for  us  when  there  were  but  few  to  speak. 
He  pleaded  with  those  who  degraded  their  Chris- 
tianity, who,  professing  to  be  Christlike,  were 
demonlike,  robbed  human  beings  of  all  that  could 
help  their  humanity.  When  the  tidal  wave  of 
misery,  sent  on  its  errand  by  Russian  cruelty, 
swept  across  the  ocean  to  our  shores,  he  bade  the 
refugees  welcome,  denouncing  with  naming  tongue 


272 

a  system  of  church  and  statecraft  which  could 
rob  of  home  and  almost  of  life  millions  of  our 
1  >rothers. 

And  so  he  pleaded  for  the  negro  in  the  South, 
for  the  evicted  in  Ireland ;  wherever  persecution 
raised  her  hydra  head  and  from  serpent  tongue 
hissed  forth  its  poisoned  message  of  distrust,  he 
pleaded  for  the  larger  love. 

He  was  a  patriot.  His  sympathies  embraced 
the  world,  and  yet  he  understood  full  well  that 
the  large  universe  is  a  great  stellar  family  in 
which  each  planet  has  its  own  orbit  and  its  own 
elliptic,  the  ideal  being  the  center,  the  sun,  around 
which  each  one  in  its  own  path,  but  in  company 
with  the  others,  doth  travel.  So  humanity  is  not 
made  up  of  bare  men — it  is  made  up  of  men  in 
historic  communities  and  under  historic  condi- 
tions; is  made  up  of  men  that  have  a  family, 
that  belong  to  a  town,  that  are  gathered  in  a 
state,  is  made  up  of  men  that  belong  to  a  nation. 
And  we  belong,  this  he  felt,  to  the  American 
nation — one  of  the  missionary  nations  of  the  world 
if  she  were  true  to  her  divine  appointment — the 
ensign  bearer  of  liberty  and  of  love.  Ah,  he 
loved  this  America  and  gave  the  best  he  had  to 


273 

give  of  thought  and  of  passion  to  the  glorious 
banner  of  the  Union. 

His  sermons  may  not  have  been  models  of 
theological  construction.  They  may  not  have 
passed  muster  where  the  professor  of  homiletics 
reviews  the  exercises  of  pupils;  but  children  of 
beauty,  they  carried  conviction  and  thus  directed 
aright  the  better  inclinations  of  the  human  heart 
to  love  humanity  and  still  not  to  forget  country, 
family,  state,  nation  and  city. 

And  he  had  also  a  peculiar  mission  and  posi- 
tion among  us  in  these  days  of  social  distrust  and 
social  strife.  We  are  all  inclined  to  believe  that 
the  rich  man,  as  such,  has  been  and  is  in  unholy 
league  with  all  the  Satanic  powers  of  hell.  In  the 
middle  ages  it  was  current  superstition  that  stone 
might  be  turned  to  gold  by  alchemistic  practices. 
There  may  be  many  to-day  that  argue  that  one  who 
scales  the  height  where  money  and  wealth  are 
found  treasured,  must  be  the  confederate  of  Meph- 
istopheles  or  an  adept  in  Mephistophelian  arts  and 
sciences.  It  was  his  mission  to  show  the  other 
side  of  the  picture;  that  not  necessarily  with  wealth 
goes  want  of  character;  that  wealth  is  an  oppor- 
tunity to  which  some  are  true,   as   poverty   is  an 


274 

opportunity  to  which  some  alone  are  true.  He 
had  been  schooled  in  the  hard  college  of  a  hard 
struggle  in  early  days — struggle  for  bread,  a 
struggle  for  the  bread  of  life,  physical,  mental 
and  moral,  and  certainly  his  sympathy  was  with 
the  strugglers;  but  as  he  had  risen  why  should 
not  everyone  rise  ?  He  believed  in  energy  of  self. 
He  believed  in  the  saving  power  of  sobriety,  in 
thrift,  and  in  economy.  He  did  not  believe,  and 
no  one  believes,  that  there  is  a  royal  road  to  ease 
and  to  peace,  which  we  need  but  travel  to  make 
the  goal;  and  thus,  as  the  speaker  of  a  society 
representative  in  its  composition  of  the  best  in  the 
city,  he  spoke  to  his  friends  of  their  duties  to  those 
outside  of  their  circle.  But  to  those  outside  he 
emphasized  the  knowledge,  too,  that  not,  as  their 
distrust  would  lead  them  to  believe,  was  the  mill- 
ion always  emblem  of  want  of  character  or  slug- 
gishness of  sympathies  and  of  heart.  His  last 
message  to  us  is  indeed  an  appeal  to  be  true  to 
the  American  principles  of  liberty,  of  right  and  of 
duty — of  regard  one  for  the  other.  Perhaps  in 
the  din  and  in  the  confusion  of  the  battle  now 
raging,  so  sweet  a  voice  as  his  would  have  been 
drowned.    Perhaps  a  sterner  clarion  note  is  needed 


275 

to  stir  the  rich  to  action  and  the  poor  to  reflection ; 
to  despoil  the  impostors  that  now  shame  the  sun- 
shine of  our  liberty,  perhaps  a  stronger  light  is 
needed  than  that  soft  beaming  beacon  of  love  and 
of  beauty  which  was  his;  but  in  his  swan-song  is 
undying  accent  of  truth.  It  is  for  us  to  translate 
that  note  into  the  louder  appeal  of  duty  and  obli- 
gation, would  we  save  our  institutions  in  this  hour 
of  danger.  By  those  who  heed  Swing's  words 
our  country  will  be  lifted  on  the  road  to  its  final 
triumph — the  solution  of  the  social  problem  on  a 
basis  of  equity  and  justice. 

Is,  now,  his  going  from  us  a  loss  i  It  is,  and 
it  is  not.  I  saw  a  picture  this  very  summer  in 
honor  of  a  great  sculptor,  charmed  on  canvas  by 
as  great  an  artist  of  the  brush.  Surrounded  by 
his  very  works,  lies  on  the  bed  of  glory,  the 
couch  of  death,  the  sculptor  who  framed  into  life 
in  chaste  marble  the  children  of  his  genius.  His 
breaking  eye  is  kissed  in  the  last  lingering  light 
of  the  setting  sun  by  a  fair  nymph,  the  latest  of 
the  artist's  productions.  What  did  the  painter 
intend  when  in  this  wise  he  gathered  around  the 
death-bed  of  the  sculptor  all  the  works  his  fertile 
chisel  had  executed?  Certainly  this:  the  author 
of  these  children  of  the  muses — their  father  in 


270 

the  ilesli — may  be  transplanted,  but  they  that 
with  kiss  send  off  him  who  made  them,  the 
nymphs,  remain  to  beautify  and  inspire,  to  lift  up 
others  by  informing  them  of  him  who  hath  gone. 
The  great  and  good  man's  love  remains  and  his 
works  abide.     Swing  is  not  dead  to  us. 

He  does  not  belong  to  that  long  procession  of 
the  great  and  the  glorious  that  I  beheld  this  sum- 
mer on  a  canvas  made  prophetic  by  the  imagin- 
ation of  a  great  painter — a  long  procession  of  the 
mighty  of  earth — Alexander,  Napoleon,  Frederick 
the  Great,  all  riding  on  in  stately  pageant  over 
the  bodies  of  dead  and  dying,  and  above  them — 
these  monarchs  and  despots  who  sent  unto  death 
the  thousands,  the  very  flower  of  their  nations — 
over  them  with  averted  face  and  weeping  eyes 
stands  the  Christ.  In  this  procession  Swing  has 
no  place.  He  was  a  man  of  peace.  How  beauti- 
ful on  the  mountain  tops  are  the  feet  of  him  who 
announces  peace  on  earth.  He  belongs  to  another 
procession  over  which  the  Christ  hovers,  but  to 
bless  and  not  to  weep;  to  those  that  made  man 
better,  not  by  the  baptism  of  blood,  but  by  the 
waters  of  purity  and  love  and  devotion  and 
beauty.  His  works  remain.  He  has  not  gone 
from  us,  and   the    immortality  he  so  often   put 


l>77 

into  sweet  rhythm  lie  himself  is  proof  of.  Is 
lie  not  immortal  ?  Some  one  has  said,  and  has 
said  it  rightfully,  Swing  is  the  great  gulf  stream — 
a  gulf  stream  of  influence.  This  influence  will 
travel  on  as  does  the  gulf  stream,  speeding  be- 
calmed ships,  warming  cold  climates,  tempering 
the  winds  for  those  in  the  grasp  of  a  torrid  sun, 
but  preserving  his  individuality  in  the  mighty 
flow — in  the  ebb  and  the  tide  of  the  ocean.  A 
gulf  stream  of  influence  for  the  best,  for  the 
truest,  the  liberal  thought  of  religion  was  he;  a 
child  of  the  muses,  son  of  beauty,  translating  the 
speech  of  nature  unto  us,  and  transmitting  the 
messages  of  the  ages  unto  us,  foretelling  the 
glories  of  the  future,  speaking  of  the  rising  love 
of  redemption,  of  the  beauty  of  the  household  of 
God  the  Father,  the  unending  life  of  each  and 
all,  he  is  now,  as  he  was  in  his  life,  the  torch- 
bearer  of  a  better  outlook  into  life,  and  of  a 
broader  love  to  bind  man  to  man,  the  children  of 
one  God  rising  into  the  glories  of  one  messianic 
kingdom.  "Thy  kingdom  come1'  was  oft  his 
prayer.  He  has  helped  make  that  kingdom 
nearer,  more  real  to  us.  Blessed  be  his  name. 
riD"i27  p"HX  "DT.  "The  memory  of  this  righteous 
one  is  a  blessing.'1     Amen. 


flDcmorial  Sermon. 

fl>reacbe£>  at  flMvMiioutb  Cburcb,  Cbicago,  b£  1Rev>.  H>r. 
ffranfc  "M.  ©unsaulus. 

How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that 
bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace,  that  bringeth  good 
tidings  of  good,  that  publisheth  salvation,  that  sayeth  unto  Zion, 
Thy  God  reigneth.— Isaiah  lii.  7. 

We  need  a  line  from  the  most  rich  and  liter- 
ary of  the  poets  of  the  Hebrew  nation  to  initiate 
in  our  hearts,  and  especially  in  our  speech,  any 
fitting  recognition  of  the  unique  and  precious 
treasure  which  our  city  and  our  land  have  lost  in 
the  death  of  David  Swing.  It  is  necessary,  also, 
that  it  be  a  verse  of  that  poetry  which  describes 
the  ministry,  not  so  much  of  a  great  ecclesiastic 
clad  in  pontifical  robes,  or  that  of  an  urgent  con- 
tender for  some  revered  proposition  of  belief,  as 
that  of  the  prophet  who,  in  the  echoes  of  yester- 
day and  the  din  of  to-day,  perceives  the  soft  and 
chastened  eloquence  of  to-morrow,  if  in  any  way 
the  passage  may  serve  as  a  prelude  to  our  thought 
of  him  who,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  stood  in 
the  twilight,  in  the  name  of  the  ample  dawn. 

The  words  that  will  accord  with  our  grief  and 
harmonize  with  our  grateful  sense  of  what  God 


279 

gave  tliis  city  when  he  gave  us  David  Swing 
must  also  l>e  full  of  a  sincere  and  calm  optimism. 
They  must  radiate  with  that  rapturous  faith  in 
the  triumph  of  goodness  which  rang  like  a  vital 
note  through  all  his  music.  They  must  carry  his 
glowing  assurance  that  the  history  of  man  is  the 
history  of  a  divine  progress.  For  this  faith  was 
the  sky  under  which  his  eye  beheld  the  contest 
of  energies  divine  and  diabolic,  the  eddies  in  the 
stream  of  man's  life  that  so  often  appear  to  testify 
to  a  receding  river,  and,  beholding  them  all,  he 
never  faltered  and  never  feared. 

Words  from  any  literature  that  may  suit  the 
hour  when  we  strew  rosemary  on  the  grave  of 
David  Swing  must  open  the  mind  toward  that 
gateway  into  the  realm  of  ideas  which  is  called 
the  beautiful,  for,  with  him,  as  with  the  great 
novelist,  "beauty  is  part  of  the  finished  lan- 
guage by  which  God  speaks.11  And  so  I  have 
chosen  the  passage  from  Isaiah  which  I  have 
read  :  "How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the 
feet  of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings,  that  pub- 
lished! peace,  that  bringeth  good  tidings  of  good, 
that  publisheth  salvation,  that  sayetli  unto  Zion, 
Thy  God  reigneth." 


280 

He  himself  has  said:  "There  is  no  tribe  or 
race  which  is  not  aware  of  such  a  something  as 
the  beautiful."  Every  race  whose  stream  of 
blood  entered  or  influenced  the  veins  of  this  prose- 
poet  contributed  its  highest  aesthetic  instinct 
and  commandment  unto  him.  To  his  spirit,  as 
to  Emerson's,  "beauty  was  its  own  excuse  for 
being.'1  He  allowed  no  argument  in  favor  of 
what  was  ugly;  that  which  was  beautiful  for  him 
needed  no  apology  or  praise.  All  his  mind's 
powers  ceased  to  question  the  right  of  the  beau- 
tiful to  be  and  to  rule,  at  the  moment  this  unfail- 
ing eye  found  it  beautiful;  and,  at  the  instant  of 
his  discovery  that  a  thing  was  not  beautiful,  all 
his  own  beauty  of  soul,  with  plaj^ful  irony, 
stinging  sarcasm,  and  wealth  of  moral  enthusiasm, 
set  itself  for  its  destruction.  He  went  through 
our  work -a- day  world  with  a  serene  faith,  like 
that  of  Keats,  that  "  a  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy 
forever;"  and  his  vision  of  the  immortal  life  was 
the  seer's  picture  of  the  survival  of  the  beautiful. 
Throughout  his  childhood,  youth,  and  for  twenty 
years  <>f  his  public  career,  he  lived  in  the  valley  of 
the  ( )hio,  of  all  valleys  the  most  sure  to  stimulate 
and  enrich  this  esthetic  sense.     All  through  his 


281 

sermons  and  essays  we  find  pictures  of  what 
nature  gave  to  this  singularly  rich  and  suggestive 
mind.  They  were  criteria  for  years  to  come  by 
which  beauty  might  be  recognized.  They  were 
facts  so  fair,  and  the  fancies  they  inspired  were  so 
glorious,  as  to  make  his  pages  of  essays  and  ser- 
mons true  to  nature  and  the  soul  in  their  truest 
moods.  The  aching  seed  and  the  April  shower, 
the  rich,  black  valley  loam  opening  its  wealth  of 
motherhood  for  the  seed,  the  rose  that  hesitantly 
met  the  earliest  hour  of  June  with  fragrant  kisses, 
the  bees,  gold-corseleted,  that  live  on  the  lips  of 
clover  bloom,  the  long,  green  lines  of  corn,  the 
yellow,  wavelike  valley  of  wheat,  the  rosy  fruit 
of  autumn,  and  the  white  snows  of  winter — all 
these  come  and  go,  as  we  think  of  the  youth  sit- 
ting by  the  old  fireplace  and  watching  the  play 
of  splendor  in  the  name,  or,  as  in  the  brilliant 
day,  he  labors  or  dreams  in  the  field,  or,  at  night 
he  broods  beneath  the  white  magnificence  of  stars. 
It  was  all  culture  of  the  sentiment  that  says, 
*'  life  and  conduct  must  be  beautiful.'1  At  col- 
lege, this  child  of  Athens,  who  had  been  born 
nearer  the  Ohio  than  Ilyssus,  found  his  own 
native  Greece  and  wandered  along  the  edge  of  the 


282 

blue    ^Egean    with    Socrates    and    Plato,    heard 

Sophocles  recite  his  tragedies  and  beheld  Phidias 

carve  the  Parthenon   frieze;    for  he  had  a  siium- 

larly  inspiring  teacher  who,  then  and  there,  gave  a 

new  life  and  career  to  this  soul  who  loved  the 

beautiful.     In    his   own  childhood's    home    with 

those  he  loved,  he  had  learned  what   his  whole 

life  illustrated,  and  what  Mrs.  Browning  has  so 

often  repeated  on  his  lips: 

"  The  essence  of  all  beauty,  I  call  love; 
The  attribute,  the  evidence,  and  end; 
The  consummation  to  the  inward  sense 
Of  beauty  apprehended  from  without, 
I  still  call  love." 

But  the  Greek  youth,  nursed  on  Hellenic  food, 
was  predestined,  and  now  he  was  reinspired  by 
his  study  of  Greek  literature  and  Greek  art  to  be 
the  apostle  of  the  beautiful.  To  him  evermore 
the  beautiful  became  good.  He  found  the  ethical 
side  of  beauty.  Professor  Swing's  spirit  was  too 
spacious  and  too  nearly  full-orbed,  not  to  find 
within  itself  the  experience  which  responded  to 
and  identified  itself  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the 
tide  of  life  and  thought  and  achievement  in  all 
the  great  nations.  He  had  too  sincere  and  truth- 
ful a  sense  of  the  imperial  value  of  righteousness, 


28a 

not  to  reflect,  at  some  times  very  vividly,  at  all 
times  quite  faithfully,  the  quality  and  message  of 
the  Hebrew  people  to  mankind.  Yet  the  quality 
of  his  nature,  the  attitude  of  his  mind,  the  method 
of  its  approach  to  truth  was  that  of  the  Greek, 
rather  than  that  of  the  Hebrew.  None  knew  bet- 
ter than  he  that  God  had  called  these  two  peoples, 
each  to  an  unique  task,  in  the  bringing  in  of  the 
kingdom  of  God,  which,  to  David  Swing  and  to 
us,  means  the  consummate  achieving  of  the  dream 
of  civilization.  The  Hebrew  wrought  for  right- 
eousness; for  this  the  nation  was  called  t<>  be  a 
royal  priesthood.  In  quite  another  manner,  as 
characteristic  of  God's  providence,  as  truly  em- 
phasizing the  gift  of  the  genius  of  the  Greek,  did 
Jehovah  call  the  Greek  to  a  royal  priesthood  also. 
He  called  the  Greeks  to  be  an  intellectual  aris- 
tocracy, as  he  called  the  Hebrews  to  be  a  spiritual 
aristocracy,  and  both  did  he  call  to  minister  unto 
all  humanity.  In  each  case  the  unique  and 
precious  stream  flowed  between  banks  of  patri- 
otic conviction. 

The  Greek  was  called  to  be  an  artistic  nation; 
his  Sinai  revealed  the  law  of  beauty.  God  called 
the  Hebrew  to  be   "an   holy  nation;'1  his  Sinai 


284 

revealed  the  laws  of  righteousness.  It  is  certainly 
true  that  David  Swing  was  a  preacher  of  the  mes- 
sage of  the  Hebrew — righteousness;  but  he  ap- 
proached it,  he  loved  it,  he  championed  it  as  a 
Greek.  To  him  righteousness  was  the  moral  side  of 
beauty,  and,  looking  upon  his  career  and  its  gra- 
cious influence,  we  repeat  the  Hebrew's  words: 
"How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 
him  that  bringeth  good  tidings."  It  was  this  Greek 
spirit  that  made  him  able  to  so  speak  the  "good 
tidings"  that  his  preaching  was  literature.  He 
knew  the  holiness  of  beauty. 

So  great,  however,  was  the  moral  uplift  of  his 
nature  toward  a  perception  of  and  a  yearning  for 
the  supreme  beauty — "  the  beauty  of  holiness,"  as 
the  Hebrew  poet  names  it — that  he  was  always 
telling  us:  "It  must  be  inferred  that  there  is  a 
moral  aesthetics  which  outranks  the  physical 
forms  of  beauty.  The  moral  kingdom  does  not 
destroy  the  other  empire.  It  is  the  old  story  of 
'  empire  within  empire,'  l  wheel  within  wheel,'  but 
with  this  caution  that  moral  beauty  is  the  greater 
of  the  two  kingdoms.  Moral  aasthetics  is  what 
our  age  now  needs."  This  is  what  the  Hebrew 
singer  had  in  mind,  when  he  sang:     "O  worship 


285 

the  Lord,  in  the  beauty  of  holiness."  To  this 
the  heart  and  eloquence  of  David  Swing  re- 
sponded for  eight  and  twenty  years  in  our  great 
materialistic  city;  but  it  was  a  Greek,  clad  with 
the  splendor  of  a  Christian  knight,  who  uttered 
his  plea  with  all  that  sobriety  of  statement,  that 
artistic  regard  for  the  beautiful  which  made  him 
the  finest  essayist  who  has  stood  in  the  pulpit  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  As  we  hear  some  more 
Hebraic  gospeler  utter  his  Ezekiel-like  oracles  to 
some  valley  of  dry-bones,  or  listen  to  some  evan- 
gelist or  reformer  hurl  his  warnings  or  maledic- 
tions against  iniquity,  remembering  this  sane  and 
refined  soul,  we  say  with  that  most  Grecian  of 
recent  anthologists: 

"  Where  are  the  flawless  form, 
The  sweet  propriety  of  measured  phrase, 

The  words  that  clothe  the  idea,  not  disguise, 
Horizons  pure  from  haze, 

And  calm,  clear  vision  of  Helleuic  eyes? 

"Strength  ever  veiled  by  grace; 
The  mind's  anatomy  implied,  not  shown; 
No  gaspings  for  the  vague,  no  fruitless  tires, 
Of  those  fair  realms  to  which  the  soul  aspires." 

The  unique  and  unimagined  value  of  such  a 
man,  holding  so  high  a  place  in  the  moral  culture 


280 

of  this  community  from  1867  to  1894,  can  not  be 
overestimated.  When  he  came  hither,  filled  with 
the  results  of  years  of  scholarly  investigation, 
calm  with  the  vision  given  only  to  men  of  genuine 
idealism  and  cultured  faith,  fearless  in  the  superb 
equipment  of  his  learning,  and  trusting  the  whole 
world  and  its  interests  to  the  influence  of  truth, 
as  only  the  scholar  and  the  Christian  does,  we 
were  just  out  of  the  thunder  and  moral  dissipation 
of  a  civil  war;  huge  fortunes  had  come  as  by 
magic  to  men  who  scarcely  considered  the  ideal 
values  in  opportunity  and  influence  which  lie  in 
a  single  dollar;  we  were  at  the  beginning  of  a 
movement,  in  an  industrial  age,  which  has  reaped 
enormous  profits  by  the  employment  and  direc- 
tion of  human  beings  along  the  ways  of  material 
progress;  a  city,  draining  its  unexampled  vitality 
from  a  vast  empire,  was  rising  like  a  huge  vision 
before  the  cupidity  and  greed,  the  hope  and 
reason  of  the  West.  What  a  gift  of  God  it  was 
that  then  there  came  to  you  a  soul,  a  human  heart 
cultured  to  the  perception  of  the  valuelessness  of 
mere  money  and  the  supreme  value  of  great  ideas 
and  noble  sentiments,  a  brain  that  was  certain  of 
nothing  so  surely  as  that  righteousness  is  moral 


287 

beauty,  and  that  this  beauty  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
supreme!  David  Swing,  at  the  opening  of  an  age 
of  gigantic  material  advancement,  through  years 
of  persistently  regnant  materialism,  in  a  city  of 
tremendous  practicalisni,  has  been  one  of  the  most 
heroic  and  noble  figures  of  our  time;  for  he  has 
been  the  scholar  in  the  pulpit,  the  Christian  in 
society,  the  philosopher  in  our  literature,  and  the 
beloved  citizen  of  the  ideal  commonwealth  in  all 
our  public  and  private  policies.  He  has  em- 
bodied in  himself  the  mission  of  the  Christian 
scholar. 

What  is  the  Christian  scholar  \  The  Greek  en- 
souled with  the  genius  of  Hebrewdom. 

He  is  the  one  being  to  whom  life  must  always 
appear  both  as  a  vision  and  as  a  duty.  The  order 
of  progress,  now  and  ever,  is,  first,  "  the  new 
heavens,"  and  then,  "the  new  earth,  wherein 
dwelleth  righteousness. "  Life,  as  a  vision  into 
which  have  been  gathered  every  noble  idea,  every 
true  sentiment,  and  every  worthy  purpose,  with 
all  their  victory  and  their  hope — a  vision  awfully 
srand  with  the  announcement  that  it  hangs  in  the 
heavens  to  be  obeyed,  glorified  with  the  assurance 
that  it  is  to  be  realized  on  the  earth — this  is  the 


288 

truest  gift  which  years  of  instruction  and  study 
may  give  to  the  scholar's  soul.  The  scholar  is 
the  deliverer  of  men.  He  is  the  sworn  acquaint- 
ance of  something  still  more  venerable  than  their 
revering  age,  something  more  ancient  than  their 
prudence,  and  into  their  solemn  cautiousness  con- 
cerning tradition  it  is  his  to  introduce  the  per- 
manent which  declines,  because  it  needs  not,  their 
endeavor  to  preserve  its  pedigree  or  to  enforce 
silence.  The  scholar  sees  the  reality  beneath  all 
appearance,  and  it  is  his  prerogative  and  fortune 
to  furnish  to  the  untrained  his  trained  eye,  that 
they  too  may  know  that  there  is  a  sky  above  and 
a  river-bed  beneath  the  flow  of  thing's.  Where- 
ever  such  a  soul  goes,  there  goes  hope.  He  has 
had  the  experience  of  nature  in  his  science,  the 
experience  of  man  with  ideas  and  principles  in 
his  study  of  history,  the  experience  of  man  with 
himself  in  his  fearless  study  of  the  soul;  and  "  ex- 
perience worketh  hope."  To  the  hopeless  man 
who  has  seen  his  flag  go  out  of  sight  as  it  fell 
beneath  the  feet  of  wrong,  he  comes,  to  lead  him 
out  of  the  atmosphere  of  momentary  defeat  to  a 
larger  induction,  and  to  bid  him  up  and  on. 
Wherever  such  a  soul   goes,  there    goes  resolute- 


289 

ness  and  self-respect.  Such  a  man,  prophet  and 
oracle,  has  been  David  Swing. 

It  was  the  Christian  scholar's  message  of  the 
infinite  beautifulness  and  desirableness  of  truth 
which  he  came  to  give. 

His  very  manner  and  voice,  his  presence  and 
attitude,  made  his  message  more  powerful  as  a 
rebuke  to  our  pretentiousness  and  self-satisfac- 
tion, and  a  stimulus  to  our  affection  for  high  ideals 
and  God-like  sentiments.  He  seemed  to  brood 
wistfully,  and  often,  with  the  whole  statement 
before  him,  carefully  written  out,  he  paused,  hes- 
itating to  handle  truth  which  had  cost  so  much 
and  was  so  dear,  with  anything  but  reverent 
care.  He  had  worked  an  immense  deal  of  ore 
into  coin  before  he  rose  to  speak,  and  he  knew 
its  worth  too  well,  and  man's  need  too  surely,  to 
jingle  it  before  human  cupidity  as  a  common 
thing.  But  before  he  concluded  his  address,  it 
was  all  our  own. 

"  He  spoke,  and  words  more  soft  than  rain 
Brought  the  age  of  gold  again." 

That  voice  filled  its  strange  stops  with  the  pecul- 
iar quality  of  his  view  of  life,  the  "sweet  rea- 
sonableness "  of  his   message,  the  native  music  of 


290 

his  melodious  soul  ;  and  no  melody  of  earth 
ever  seemed  so  varied  in  harmony  or  so  increas- 
ingly beautiful  as  its  utterance.  When  I  heard 
him,  I  confess  myself  to  have  been  under  such  a 
spell  as  only  the  finest  orators  may  create,  while  I 
was  saying  to  myself  that  this  is  not  oratory  at  all. 
His  was  the  eloquence  of  self-command,  of  affec- 
tionate confidence  in  his  latest-loved  truth,  whose 
beauty  he  was  then  showing  to  us,  lit  up  by  a  per- 
fect faith  that  the  angel  he  modestly  championed 
would  easily  make  her  way  in  the  world. 

In  the  hour  of  his  supreme  power  what  re- 
sources he  had,  what  forces  came  into  his  grasp! 
He  had  a  finer  humor  than  Beecher;  it  was  radi- 
ant atmosphere,  never  tumultuous  with  stormful 
glee,  but  kindly,  genial,  an  air  in  which  the 
laughter  rippled  o'er  the  soul  as  the  water  moves 
when  a  swallow  flies  close  to  a  quiet  pool.  In 
that  radiance,  buds  of  thought  opened,  seemingly 
without  his  touch,  and  unripe  purposes  grew 
golden  in  the  warmth  and  glow.  He  had  per- 
fect mastery  of  sarcasm  and  irony.  They  never 
mastered  him.  In  these  rare  moments  of  super- 
lative power  his  good  humor  kept  the  sharp 
edges   from    cutting    a    hair,   while    the    blades 


291 

flashed  everywhither.  Just  at  such  an  instant 
in  his  appeal,  sober  common-sense,  the  strongest 
faculty,  or  set  of  faculties  which  he  possessed, 
uttered  its  behest,  while  fancy  and  memory 
played  about  the  message  as  sweet  children 
about  a  gracious  queen.  More  than  any  or  all 
of  these,  was  the  man  who  stood  so  quietly  there 
—the  dear  friend,  the  high-minded  advocate  of 
the  good,  the  true  and  the  beautiful — urging  us  to 
a  security  of  faith,  a  sanctity  of  life,  and  a  rea- 
sonableness of  conduct,  like  his  own.  Thus  he 
became  his  own  best  argument.  It  was  the  elo- 
quence, not  of  speech,  but  of  beautiful  character. 
What  Lowell  quotes  to  describe  the  speech  of 
the  Concord  seer  may  be  quoted  to  describe  him : 

"  Was  never  eye  did  see  that  face, 

"Was  never  ear  did  hear  that  tongue, 

Was  never  mind  did  mind  his  grace, 
That  ever  thought  the  travail  long, 

But  eyes,  and  ears,  and  every  thought, 
Were  with  his  sweet  perfections  caught." 

It  is  often  said  that  Professor  Swing  was  not 
a  reformer,  and  that  he  possessed  none  of  the 
qualities  and,  therefore,  had  nothing  of  the  career 
of  those  heroic  men  who  root  up  ancient  and 
wide-branched  wrongs  and  create  a  reign  of  right- 


292 

eousness.  He  was  a  philosopher,  not  a  trans- 
former of  institutions  and  laws.  The  fact  is 
that  such  a  soul's  contribution  to  the  evolution 
of  goodness  in  the  world  is  always  of  the  high- 
est importance.  Ideas  will  always  gather  cham- 
pions. Such  a  service  as  his  is  too  likely  to  be 
underestimated,  because  it  is  so  fundamental  and 
so  great.  With  a  strange  hesitancy  as  to  accept- 
ing the  conclusions  of  Darwin,  our  preacher's 
mental  method  was  that  of  an  evolutionist.  He 
trusted  the  development  of  involved  ideas.  The 
revolutionist  always  attracts  more  attention  and 
offers  the  picture  of  a  more  easily  understood 
courage.  But  there  would  never  be  a  revolu- 
tionist,  if  the  evolutionist,  whose  plea  is  reason 
and  not  a  sword,  whose  appeal  is  to  ideas  that 
render  battles  useless,  were  heard. 

In  the  thick  of  the  fight  for  some  instantly 
demanded  righteousness,  David  SAving  was  not  a 
Luther,  fiery-tongued  and  dust-covered  as  the 
fray  went  on;  he  was  rather  an  Erasmus,  the 
temperate,  calm  scholar  who  had  already  whetted 
the  sword  for  a  Luther's  strong  hands  and  held 
its  fine  blade  ready  for  his  service.  But  he  was 
never  beset  with  the  cautiousness  of  Erasmus. 


293 

No  Erasmus  would  ever  have  lield  the  moral  sense 
of  the  same  community  for  all  these  years.     He 
was  Erasmus  and  Melancthon  in  one.     His  shy 
and    clear- eyed    soul    reminds    one    of   our   own 
Emerson,  whom  Wendell  Phillips,  in  the  angry 
warfare  where  he  was  using  Emerson's  ideas  as 
tine  Damascus  blades,   called    "  that  earthquake 
scholar  at  Concord,"  of  whom  also  Lowell  has  said : 
"  To  him  more  than  to  all  other  causes  together  did 
the  young  martyrs  of  our  civil  war  owe  the  sus- 
taining strength  of  thoughtful  heroism  that  is  so 
touching  in  every  record  of  their  lives."  From  his 
benign  place  of  culture  David  Swing  has  sup- 
plied epigrams  which  have  become  battle  cries  to 
many  souls,  who,  in  the  turmoil,  are  fighting  the 
good  fight,  to  whose  successful  issue  he  made  the 
contribution  of  victorious  ideas.     He  lit  the  bea- 
con and  has  kept  it  burning,  so  that,  in  the  con- 
test of  right  against  wrong,  of  intelligence  against 
ignorance,   of  nobility   of  character  against  the 
vulgarity  which  exhibits  its  coat  of  arms  or  its 
wealth,  the  soldier  of  truth  might  not  mistake  a 
foe  for  a  friend,   or  lose  the  path  of  triumph. 
His  was  the  thinker's  heroism — the  finest  in  the 
life  of  man.     He  feared  not  the  consequences  of 


294 

any  truth ;  he  feared  only  a  comfortable  lie,  or  a 
popular  blunder.  He  was  more  than  a  Falkland 
with  a  Matthew  Arnold  to  praise  him,  and  to  for- 
get the  lonely  hours  of  Sir  John  Eliot  and  Hamp- 
den. He  never  cried  peace  where  there  was  no 
peace.  He  always,  somehow,  got  his  word  of 
cheer  to  the  beleaguered  army  of  truth,  even  if  he 
were  not  with  them  at  the  hour  of  their  captivity. 

With  the  thinker's  courage  he  trusted  to  the 
predestinated  dominion  of  ideas,  not  only  the 
fortunes  of  society,  but  also  the  future  of  the  com- 
monwealth and  the  hope  of  man.  Not  the  light- 
ning that  smites  and  cleaves,  still  less  the  thunder 
that  rolls  and  amazes,  his  was  the  soft  and  per- 
vasive sunshine,  bearing  the  secret  fate  of  the 
summer  and  traveling  with  the  molten  snows, 
falling  silently  upon  the  icefields  that  gleam  and 
shimmer  as  they  slowly  drip  into  the  harvests  of 
the  future. 

He  has  lived  for  living  ideas  and  generous 
sentiments,  the  exquisitely  true  statements  of 
which  are  so  generously  left  on  his  pages  that 
they  are  sure  to  be  in  the  hearts  and  on  the  lips 
of  the  men  of  to-morrow,  and  all  this  because  of 
his  serene  faith   in  the  native  supremacy  of  the 


295 

good,  and  the  true,  and  the  beautiful.  This 
exalted  and  broad  faith  has  given  liim  breadth  of 
interest  and  largeness  of  theme,  and  an  unerring 
touch,  as  he  has  dealt  with  life's  variety  of  prob- 
lems. Above  controversies,  he  has  been  so  lofty 
as  to  provide  for  controversialists  who  would  fain 
find  the  truth,  the  keys  which  unlock  her  treasure- 
houses.  Our  text  describes  him — "  beautiful  on 
the  mountains, "  where  a  large  view  enabled  him 
to  see  valleys  of  life  running  into  one  another, 
roadways,  seemingly  opposed  in  direction,  gradu- 
ally and  surely  tending  toward  each  other.  Often- 
times he  would  come  down  close  to  the  hearts  of 
the  mistaken  and  debating  searchers  for  truth, 
and  usually  he  came  to  show  them  that  each  pos- 
sessed some  truth  or  ideal  needed  by  the  other, 
and  that  the  pathway  to  righteousness  and  God 
was  wide  enough  for  them  both. 

Such  a  supreme  faith  in  the  good  and  the 
true  and  the  beautiful  made  his  eye  quick  to  dis- 
cern its  presence  or  absence  in  all  places.  He 
was  therefore  a  wise  appreciator  of  art,  in  which 
this  Greek  loved  to  behold  a  Hebrew  lesson  on 
righteousness,  a  penetrative  and  comprehensive 
critic  of   literature,  whose   treasures   lay  at   his 


296 

feet,  a  patriotic  and  sympathetic  thinker  in  pol- 
itics, which  he  would  have  baptized  with  Chris- 
tian idealism,  a  true  and  broad-minded  champion 
of  religion,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  noblest  concern 
of  all  human  life.  One  could  not  read  with  him 
"The  Grammarian's  Funeral"  of  Robert  Brown- 
ing, and  see  the  face  of  David  Swing,  as  he  lived 
and  toiled  with  the  scholarship  which  made  the 
renaissance  victorious,  without  thinking,  if  he 
had  actually  been  one  of  that  age,  he  would  have 
found  such  a  grave  also.  But  our  Professor  was 
more  than  one  who  "ground  at  grammar.'" 

The  mighty  renaissance  with  which  he  had 
to  do,  and  in  the  study  of  which  the  importance 
of  his  personality,  its  spirit  and  its  gentle  strength 
appear,  has  proved  itself  the  greatest  event  in 
the  history  of  religious  thought  since  the  Refor- 
mation. The  Oxford  movement,  under  the  fascin- 
ating leadership  of  Newman,  never  reached 
beyond  the  English  and  American  Episcopal 
churches  and  the  Roman  Catholic  church,  in 
whose  fold  the  leader  found  a  home.  At  that 
hour  there  was  afoot,  under  Maurice,  Kingsley 
and  Stanley,  a  movement  in  England,  inspired 
by  Coleridge,  fast  putting  on  robes  of  poetry  in 


297 

the  lines  of  Tennyson  and  Browning,  which,  at 
a  later  hour,  was  sure  to  find  responses  here  in 
the  hearts  and  minds  of  such  men  as  Beecher, 
Phillips  Brooks,  and  David  Swing.  Earlier  than 
either  of  his  great  contemporaries,  Professor  Swing- 
saw  that  this  was  the  renaissance  of  the  Greek 
spirit  in  theology. 

A  lover  of  that  ancient  Rome  where  Greek 
literature  still  ruled  her  orators  and  poets,  our 
Professor  never  could  sympathize  with  mediaeval 
and  theological  Rome.  The  Almighty  God  and 
his  government,  as  treated  by  the  theologians  of 
Rome,  for  nearly  two  thousand  years,  whether 
Catholic  or  Protestant,  were  only  a  huge  Roman 
emperor  exalted  to  omnipotence  and  an  empire 
where  Roman  justice  and  power  alone  were 
supreme.  Orthodoxy  had  been  partial  to  these 
thinkers,  for  Rome  had  been  the  seat  of  ortho- 
doxy. Orthodoxy  had,  therefore,  been  fragment- 
ary; outside  of  her  accredited  formularies  were 
other  truths  quite  as  necessary  for  a  full  statement 
of  Christianity.  For  example,  the  view  of  the 
atonement  called  orthodox  was  sympathetic  with 
ideas  of  divine  government  borrowed  from  the 
Roman    government;   and   as  that  government's 


298 

view  of  justice  and  humanity  was  not  exhaustive, 
so  that  theory  of  the  atonement  was  partial,  if 
not  untrue.  Against  this,  as  well  as  against 
views  of  the  inspiration  of  scripture  and  the  the- 
ology which  dogmatized  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
wicked,  the  Greek  spirit  rose  in  him  to  utter  its 
word;  not  to  fight,  for  this  is  not  the  business  of 
ideas,  but  to  utter  its  life  as  a  flower  expresses 
itself  in  fragrance  and  beauty,  to  initiate  a  gen- 
uine renaissance,  a  re-birth  of  hidden  and  for- 
gotten truth.  The  whole  movement  of  theology 
in  the  nineteenth  century  has  been  a  re- uttering 
of  this  Greek  spirit.  Augustine,  Athanasius,  and 
Cyril  of  Jerusalem  have  yielded  to  Origen,  Chry- 
sostom,  and  Clement  of  Alexandria.  Our  Greek 
poet-preacher,  uttering  his  too  long  delayed  truth 
in  preachers'  prose,  has  proved  himself  a  worthy 
successor  of  him  who  was  called  "golden- 
mouthed1'  at  Antioch,  and  him  who  was  named 
by  Jerome,  "the  greatest  master  of  the  church 
after  the  Apostles." 

As  Emerson  left  the  church  whose  life  he 
inspired  as  has  no  theologian  of  our  age,  so  David 
Swing  retired  from  what  was  a  battlefield,  to  give 
all  sects  the  benignant  and  untroubled  illumina- 


299 

tion  which  was  the  radiance  of  his  soul.  With- 
out the  impulsive  eloquence  and  massive  move- 
ment of  Beecher,  but  with  more  than  Beecher's 
calm  and  propriety  of  utterance;  without  Phillips 
Brooks1  vision  of  the  whole  human  heart  and  his 
abounding  religiousness  of  devotion  to  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  as  the  revelation  of  God,  David  Swing 
performed  a  service  like  theirs,  to  all  religious 
interests,  in  emancipating  the  mind  of  our  time 
from  the  establishments  of  piety  and  the  formu- 
laries of  a  partial  faith. 

Such  men  are  always  called  heretics.  The 
truth  is,  they  are  the  men  of  faith.  They  are 
those  who  do  not  believe  less  than  the  reactionary 
who  would  try  them,  or  the  conservative  who 
distrusts  them;  but  they  believe  more — not  the 
same  things  and  more  things  beside — but  they 
believe  more.  When  David  Swing  denied  that 
God  was  limited  to  the  methods  of  government 
mentioned  by  the  Westminster  Confession,  he 
had  a  larger  and  more  truly  evangelical  belief  in 
God  than  his  opposer.  To-day  the  church  of  his 
boyhood  comes  to  his  grave,  and  one  of  her  most 
eloquent  orators  embalms  with  odorous  spices  the 
heretic  of  yesterday.     Intolerance  is  the  only  rad- 


300 

ical  unbelief.  No  man  lias  so  little  real  faith  as 
lie  who  believes  that  God's  truth  needs  his  police 
duty  to  keep  it  alive,  or  to  protect  it  from  being 
stolen. 

When  these  men  first  spoke,  critical  wiseacres 
were  pointed  to  the  ruddy  east;  but  they  answered 
that  some  one's  house  was  on  fire,  and  forthwith 
they  sought  to  extinguish  the  flame.  It  was  the 
dawn — inextinguishable  and  glorious.  Fear- 
lessly, that  movement  which  reddens  the  whole 
Orient  may  be  trusted.  It  will  journey  on  to 
complete  the  noontide.  Looking  at  it,  one  sees 
that  it  is  God's  presence  in  man's  deeper,  larger 
faith. 

"And  on  the  glimmering  limit  far  withdrawn, 
God  made  himself  an  awful  rose  of  dawn." 

His  interest  in  theology  sprang  from  such  a 
root  as  gave  him  a  profound  interest  in  the  prob- 
lem of  society.  He  confronted  it  with  the  same 
principles,  asked  of  its  dogmatists  the  same  ques- 
tions, and  answered  its  demands  with  the  same 
faith.  Just  as  he  declined  to  believe  in  and 
preach  a  gospel  of  despair  which  left  a  less  lov- 
ing God  than  Christ  on  the  throne  of  the  universe, 
so  he  declined  to  believe  that  the  best  civilization 


301 

will  permit  capital  to  grow  rich  by  child -labor, 
and  lawlessness  to  destroy  public  order.  His 
unmoved  faith  in  God,  and  man  under  God's  love, 
is  at  the  basis  of  a  dream  of  a  better  society,  just 
as  it  was  at  the  basis  of  a  truer  theology. 

The  idea  of  God  was  Christianized  in  his 
deeper  confidence;  the  same  transformation  must 
come  to  the  life  of  man  here  below.  As  the  vis- 
ion of  Christ,  saying:  "He  that  hath  seen  me 
hath  seen  the  Father,"  changed  the  conception  of 
God,  and  made  man  a  worshiper  of  the  uni- 
versal Fatherhood,  so  Christ  in  the  life  of  man 
will  change  methods  and  bring  about  a  universal 
brotherhood.  What  makes  for  a  true  theology 
makes  for  a  triu  sociology.  "No  Christ-like 
soul,"  he  says,  "will  consent  to  walk  along 
through  life  or  to  heaven  without  wishing  to 
drag  all  society  with  it  to  the  sublime  destiny." 

This  deep  faith  made  him  the  lover  of  men 
whose  personal  creeds  were  divergent  from  his 
own  and  whose  methods  he  could  not  have 
adopted.  It  was  enough  that  they  were  bringing 
in  the  better  day.  Full  of  admiration  for  the 
philosopher  and  scientist,  he  nevertheless  said: 
"It  is  not   Comte   or   Tyndall  who   must  plead 


302 

Avith  the  "begrimed  miners  of  England;  it  is 
Moody  and  Sankey.11  He  could  trust  any  man 
whose  soul  was  acquainted  with  the  large  truths 
of  the  Nazarene,  because  he  trusted  them.  "The 
truths  of  Christ's  reform,'1  he  said,  "  possess  that 
impulse  which  comes  from  their  lying  outspread, 
not  only  in  the  light  of  earth,  but  in  that  of 
eternity." 

Perhaps  his  proclaimed  vision  of  Christ  was 
not  inclusive  of  all  the  lines  which  love  and  wor- 
ship have  made  for  yours;  but  I  never  heard 
him  more  earnest  than  when  he  said  to  one  who 
wished  to  substitute  a  paganism  for  Christianity : 
"  Even  could  we  draw  from  the  classics  or  Hindoo 
world  a  complete  definition  of  manhood,  we 
would  seem  to  need  a  Christ  to  enable  the  human 
race  to  realize  the  dream  betrayed  in  the  defini- 
tion.11 "The  cross  is  only  an  essential  prelude  to 
the  new  life.11  Perhaps  his  humor  lit  up  the  true 
features  of  some  doctrine  so  dear  to  you  that  you 
mistook  the  kindly  light  for  his  repudiation  of 
truth.  Doubtless  he  saw  more  clearly  those 
truths  of  which  little  is  said  in  creeds;  but  this, 
at  least,  is  true :  the  confession  of  faith  he  per- 
petually uttered  and  preached  is  made  up  of  the 


303 

sweetest  hopes  and  the  most  frequently  spoken 
commandments  which  moved  the  lips  of  Jesus 
Christ, 

Of  unique  and  pervasive  beautifulness  of 
nature,  of  large  and  living  scholarship,  of  most 
thorough  religiousness  of  mind,  of  genuine  Ameri- 
can fiber  and  faith,  he  lived  with  us  and  died 
among  us,  the  most  beloved  of  our  citizens,  if  not 
the  most  distinguished;  the  most  poetic  of  the 
prophets  who  has  not  left  his  life  in  his  verse; 
the  most  genial  and  philosophical  of  American 
essayists,  who  was  always  a  priest  of  goodness ; 
our  soul's  friend,  to  whom  we  say:  "Hail  and 
farewell." 


1Re\>.  Zbos.  C.  Iball'e  tribute. 

A  great  sorrow  lias  fallen  upon  many  hearts 
this  week.  A  former  pastor  of  this  church  has 
been  taken  to  his  rest.  A  beautiful  and  sunny 
life  has  come  to  a  peaceful  close,  and  the  memo- 
ries and  sweet  associations  of  a  long  ministry  now 
gather  about  an  open  grave.  Professor  David 
Swing  was  too  well-known  a, figure  among  you  to 
need  any  description  or  eulogy  from  my  lips ;  but  I 
would  not  do  justice  either  to  my  own  or  to 
your  feelings,  were  I  not  to  pay  a  tribute  to  the 
love  and  gentleness  of  the  life  that  has  passed 
away.  It  is  most  striking,  that,  in  all  that  is 
being  said  of  Professor  Swing,  the  remarkable 
intellectual  gifts  which  were  his  are  passed  over  so 
largely,  in  order  that  men  may  emphasize  again 
and  again  his  love  and  sweetness.  These  quali- 
ties of  his  were  not  born  of  ruddy  health  and 
prosperous  condition.  Pain  was  his  familiar 
companion,  and  carefully  had  he  to  watch  him- 
self that  his  work  might  not  suffer,  but  he  seldom 
spoke  much  of  himself.  His  high  classical  attain- 
ments and  complete  familiarity  with   the   Latin 


304 


305 

poets  are  rarely  met  with  to-day,  but  he  spoke 
very  modestly  of  them,  and  they  were  only  means 
to  the  end  he  had  in  view.  His  message  was 
of  a  full  sweet  forgiveness  through  a  Father's 
redeeming  love,  and  he  couched  that  message  in 
words  of  singular  beauty,  and  illustrated  it  from 
an  imagination  quick  to  all  the  perfect  in  nature 
or  in  art.  There  was  Christian  refinement  in 
every  finished  product  of  his  pen,  and  the  glow 
of  a  loving  heart  was  felt  through  all  his  periods. 
No  one  was  more  adept  in  the  art  of  gentle  satire, 
but  it  was  chastened  and  controlled  as  few  men 
so  possessed  succeed  in  controlling  their  gift.  A 
charming  humor  played  over  much  that  he  wrote, 
but  it  only  seemed  to  enhance  the  seriousness 
and  depth  that  will  make  his  writings  a  fund 
of  moral  inspiration   for  all   time. 

Professor  Swing  saw  clearly.  His  mind  worked 
rapidly  and  thoroughly.  He  did  not  permit  him- 
self to  become  entangled  in  his  own  explanations. 
He  saw  many  things  a  good  while  ago  that  men 
are  only  now  dimly  perceiving.  He  gave  his 
message,  found  his  place,  and  leaves  now  a  great 
city  incalculably  poorer  for  his  departure.  He  was 
a  splendid  citizen,  and  loved  Chicago.     In  a  con- 


300 

versation  with  him,  had  not  long  ago,  I  lamented 
some  things  that  make  our  streets  unattractive. 
He  acknowledged  the  weakness,  but  with  that 
characteristic  hopefulness  that  made  him  so 
strong  in  doing  his  work,  he  said:  "You  are 
young.  You  will  see  our  work  tell  on  these 
streets  as  it  gradually  tells  on  the  character  they 
figure  forth."  He  had  great  faith  in  the  power 
of  love  and  in  the  receptivity  of  the  human  heart 
for  its  healing  power.  He  believed  in  love  lived 
out,  not  simply  professed,  and,  if  sometimes  impa- 
tient with  creeds,  he  seldom  lost  his  power  of 
sympathy  with  the  heart  behind  a  creed,  no  mat- 
ter how  distasteful  the  creed  might  be  to  him. 

Nothing  was  more  noticeable  about  Professor 
Swing  than  the  extreme  quietness  and  unobtru- 
siveness  of  his  manner.  He  did  not  seek  notori- 
ety, nor  did  he  seem  much  to  value  praise.  He 
desired  only  opportunity  to  give  his  message  and 
to  serve.  And  he  served  faithfully.  He  was  a 
pastor  to  many  hundreds  who  had  no  more  claim 
upon  him  than  that  they  had  read  his  sermons  or 
knew  his  name. 

Into  many  houses  of  mourning  he  came  with 
his  own  personal  message  of  love  and  hope  and 


307 

confidence.  He  thought  kindly  of  all,  and  his 
gentle  judgments  were  the  sincere  outcome  of 
his  charitable  view  of  life  and  men.  This  quiet 
confidence  in  the  real  underlying  goodness  of 
humanity  was  no  mere  sentiment  with  him,  but 
was  born  of  a  profound  conviction  that  God  was 
really  redeeming  humanity,  and  that  into  the 
poorest,  meanest  life  there  was  being  inbreathed  a 
diviner  and  a  nobler  being.  This  was  the  ground 
conception  of  his  philosophy  and  his  theology. 
Not  that  he  overlooked  sin  or  underestimated 
unrighteousness  and  wickedness,  but  that  he  fixed 
his  eye  upon  a  redeeming  love  shed  abroad  in 
the  hearts  of  men  through  the  message  of  Christ's 
gospel.  Indeed,  his  heart  was  often  stirred  by  the 
treachery  and  unrighteousness  that  surrounded 
him,  but  he  would  soon  find  rest  again  in  the 
hope  of  the  future  and  his  confidence  in  the  final 
outcome.  In  speaking  of  this  to  me  one  day,  he 
said  with  much  impressiveness:  "Why  should 
one  judge  life  by  its  lower  phases,  or  one  meas- 
ure your  faith  by  its  low  water-mark  of  depres- 
sion? I  may  lose  confidence  in  humanity  for 
one  hour  out  of  the  twenty-four,  but  it  is  the 
other  twenty-three  hours  of  faith  in  humanity, 
in  which  I  will  do  any  work  for  it.'1 


308 

He  often  spoke  of  the  necessity  of  living  on 
the  level  of  our  nobler  inspirations,  and,  amidst 
the  trials  and  difficulties,  many  of  which  were 
unknown  to  all  but  an  inner  circle,  he  wonder- 
fully succeeded  in  keeping  his  teaching  keyed 
up  to  a  very  high  pitch  of  lofty  inspiration  born 
of  a  divine  faith.  In  his  later  days  he  had  a 
certain  sense  of  loneliness.  Many  of  those  whom 
he  had  known,  and  known  intimately,  had  passed 
before  him  through  the  silent  portals  that  have 
closed  forever  on  his  own  spirit.  And  he  had 
planned  to  associate  with  him,  this  winter,  a  few 
of  the  younger  men,  who  gladly  would  have 
gathered  about  him  to  share  his  experience  and 
learn  from  him.  But  the  Great  Master  desired 
it  otherwise,  and  his  spirit  is  lonely  no  more, 
but  rejoices  in  the  fellowship  of  unnumbered 
believers  and  is  ever  present  with  his  Lord. 

The  lessons  of  his  life  are  many  and  very 
sacred.  Many  of  you  will  lay  them  to  heart  as 
you  learn  them  from  lips  more  competent  than 
mine  to  interpret  them  to  you,  but  the  broad,  full 
message  of  a  saving,  redeeming  love,  working 
out,  in  sacrifice  and  praise,  its  mission  and  its 
task,  is  the  lesson  he  would  most  have  you,  mem- 


309 

bers  of  the  church  to  which  lie  once  ministered, 
lay  most  to  heart.  He  believed  in  Christ  as  the 
friend  of  the  friendless,  the  teacher  of  the  igno- 
rant, the  Savior  of  the  lost,  and  the  hope  of  a 
despairing  world.  It  was  as  Christ  was  formed 
in  him  the  hope  of  glory,  that  he  became  a  teacher 
of  his  time,  and  a  prophet  of  a  fullness  of  salva- 
tion to  be  worked  out  through  Christ. 


{Tribute  of  1Re\>,  E>r.  1b*  VOL  Sbomas, 

pastor  of  tbe  people's  Cburcb. 

In  whose  heart  are  the  highways  of  Zion, 

Passing  the  valley  of  weeping,  they  make  it  a  place  of  springs. 

— Ps.  lxxxiv.  5-6. 

It  can  never  cease  to  be  a  strange  and  impress- 
ive  fact,  that  the  years  of  man  on  earth  are  so 
f  ew.  He  comes  not  to  stay ;  but  to  "  pass  through  " 
this  wonderful  world.  He  would  gladly  linger 
beneath  its  skies,  rest  by  its  streams,  work  and 
study  longer  upon  its  great  tasks  and  problems. 

But  he  is  hurried  along  from  youth  to  age; 
from  cradle  to  tomb.  The  countless  generations 
of  the  past  have  looked  out  upon  the  same  conti- 
nents and  oceans  —  wandered  and  wondered 
beneath  the  same  stars ;  have  laughed  and  wept, 
loved  and  sorrowed — "passed  through"  this  scene 
and  mystery  profound — passed  on  to  the  infinite 
beyond;  and  of  all  the  millions  living  now 
soon  all  will  be  gone,  and  other  lives  will  have 
come  to  fill  their  places. 

Such  a  strange  order  and  conditioning  of  the 
conscious  life  of  man,  naturally,  necessarily,  gives 
to  his  thought  and  work  a  forward  looking  and 


311 

movement.  He  can  not,  if  he  would,  go  back; 
the  path  behind  him  is  cut  off;  closed  to  himself, 
but  open  for  others.  Only  in  memory  may  one 
live  over  the  years  that  are  gone.  History  may 
prolong  the  backward  vision  of  what  has  been  in 
the  long  past;  but  one  can  not  be  a  child,  a  youth 
again  —  can  not  stand  again  in  the  glad  years  that 
are  gone.  The  only  path  upon  which  the  feet 
can  move  lies  before,  stretches  on  into  the  ever 
strange  and  new  of  the  coming  to-morrow. 

Not  alone  is  it  impossible  to  recall  the  years 
that  are  gone,  but  impossible  to  change  them,  to 
do  anything  to  make  them  other  or  different  from 
what  they  were.  When  one  reads  of  the  wars, 
the  slaveries,  the  persecutions,  the  wrongs  and 
sufferings  of  centuries  ago,  the  sonl  rises  up  in 
protest,  and  would  gladly  go  back  and  light  the 
battles  over  again ;  rescue  a  Joan  of  Arc  or  a 
Bruno  from  the  stake,  or  change  the  sad  ending 
of  a  William  of  Orange.  But  man  stands  pow- 
erless to  undo  the  sad  yesterdays  of  his  world; 
he  can  atone  for  his  own  nearer  wrongs  only  by 
making  better  each  to-day. 

This  cutting  off  of  the  past,  this  impossibility  of 
going  back  and  undoing  what  was,  holds  man's 


312 

whole  life  and  being  in  what  is,  and  projects  it 
into  the  larger  possibilities  of  what  may  be, 
gives  a  forward  looking  to  those  "  in  whose  hearts 
are  the  highways  ofZion,"  that,  "passing  through 
the  valley  of  weeping,  they  may  make  it  a  place 
of  springs." 

And  when  the  mystery  of  this  strange  fact  of 
the  few  passing  years  of  man  on  earth  is  studied 
more  deeply,  whilst  it  is  still  true  that  one  can 
not  go  back  and  undo  what  has  been,  there  arises 
the  larger  thought  and  fact  of  the  continuity  of 
individual  and  world  life  in  which  the  good  is 
conserved,  the  evil  left  behind. 

In  the  individual  life  and  consciousness,  child- 
hood and  youth  are  not  lost,  but  carried  forward 
into  the  years  and  strength  of  manhood  and  wo- 
manhood. Our  childhood,  our  youth,  is  still  a  part 
of  ourselves;  play  has  changed  to  labor;  the  "a, 
b,  c's,"  the  "one, two,  threes,"  are  with  us  in  the 
books  we  read  and  the  numbers  we  calculate; 
lisping  speech  has  become  a  language ;  obedience 
in  the  home  has  opened  the  way  to  the  larger 
world-order;  lessons  of  truth  and  right  have 
become  great  principles  in  the  life  of  morals  and 
religion. 


313 

And  what  is  so  evidently  true  in  the  indi- 
vidual experience  is  true,  in  another  sense,  in  the 
larger  life  of  our  one  human  family.  Each 
passing  generation  leaves  to  those  who  follow  in 
its  steps  the  paths  over  which  it  has  journeyed, 
the  work  it  has  done  in  conquering  land  and 
sea,  its  progress  in  the  industries,  arts,  sciences, 
language,  literature,  and  the  institutionalized 
forms  in  which  these  have  taken  shaping.  .The 
childhood  of  the  world  was  carried  forward  into 
its  youth,  and  this  into  its  manhood.  The  mill- 
ions who  "passed  through"  this  strange  scene 
of  learning,  doing  and  becoming,  "had  in  their 
hearts  the  highways  of  Zion,"and  helped  "make 
the  valley  of  weeping  a  place  of  springs." 

Civilization  has  been  carried  along  the  great 
"highways"  of  all  industrial  and  business  pur- 
suits; homes,  cities,  schools,  temples  of  justice 
and  religion  have  arisen;  the  great  inventors 
have  facilitated  labor  and  travel ;  the  lovers  of 
liberty  have  toiled  to  make  men  free;  the  lovers 
of  art  have  filled  the  world  with  the  beautiful; 
the  lovers  of  music  have  filled  the  world  with 
song;  the  lovers  of  justice  have  tried  and  are  try- 
ing to  adjust  the  inequalities  of  the  social  order; 


314 

♦ 

the  lovers  of  reason  have  striven  to  make  this  a 
rational  world;  and  the  lovers  of  religion  have 
toiled  and  are  toiling  now  to  make  the  earth  a 
vast  world-home  of  souls,  of  brotherhood,  of 
love  and  prayer  and  hope  immortal. 

Whatever  may  be  the  thought  or  hope  of  man 
about  a  life  beyond  death,  race -continuity  of  the 
millions  in  this  world  for  ages  to  come  is  not 
doubtful.  So  great  is  the  rejuvinescence  of  the 
life  forces  of  our  human  world,  that  its  youth  is 
ever  rising  out  of  its  age.  War,  famine,  pesti- 
lence have  carried  away  countless  millions;  the 
earth  has  to  be  re-peopled  nearly  three  times  in 
each  century;  but,  through  all,  race-continuity 
endures,  and  with  ever  increasing  numbers. 

It  took  Germany  one  hundred  years  to  recover 
from  the  "thirty  years  war,"  but  Germany  is 
greater  to-day  than  ever  before;  and,  with  Alsace 
and  Lorraine  gone  and  forty  thousand  German 
soldiers  camping  in  her  midst,  France  rose  up  and 
paid  a  billion  dollars  in  gold.  In  the  third  of  a 
century  since  the  rebellion  a  new  generation  of 
men  and  women,  young  and  strong,  have  come 
into  the  great  life  of  our  own  country. 

Facing  this  fact  of  race-immortality,  a  great 
and  near  motivity  comes  into  the  life  of  man. 


315 

He  "passes  through"  the  strange  scene;  but  he 
lives  on  in  the  life  of  children  and  country. 
Men  die;  institutions  live,  industries  live,  thought 
lives,  truth  lives,  right  lives;  love,  hope  can  not 
die.  Hence  there  is  the  great  inspiration,  the 
altruism  of  the  continuity  of  race  life,  race  im- 
mortality; the  othering,  the  enlarging,  the  pro- 
longing, the  re-living  of  self  as  a  conscious  part 
of  world  or  race  life. 

Nor  is  this  larger  vision  poetic,  speculative. 
How  can  reason  cease  to  be  reason,  or  love  cease 
to  be  love  ?  How  can  they  drop  out  of  or  cease 
to  be  a  part  of  the  true,  the  good  that  is  eternal  ? 
Oh !  not  for  a  day,  but  forever,  is  the  thinking,  lov- 
ing, hoping  life  of  man;  and  not  far  away  are 
the  blessed  dead,  but  more  deeply  and  divinely 
than  ever  alive,  and  living  in  the  deathless  reali- 
ties of  the  real,  and,  like  Moses  and  Elias  with 
the  transfigured  Christ,  comma;  back  and  sharing 
in  the  great  events  and  interests  of  the  world  in 
which  they  once  lived  and  toiled. 

"Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits  sent 
forth  to  minister  to  the  heirs  of  salvation?" 
"Seeing,  then,  that  we  are  compassed  about  with 
so  great  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  run  with 
patience  the  race  set  before  us." 


31(3 

It  should  not  seem  strange  that  in  this  forward- 
looking  of  a  world  there  are  those,  "in  whose 
hearts  are  the  highways  of  Zion,"  and  that,  "  pass- 
ing through  the  valley  of  weeping  they  make  it 
a  place  of  springs."  All  nations  and  religions 
have  journeyed  to  some  ideal  of  the  better.  With 
the  Jews  it  was  embodied  in  their  Zion,  their 
Jerusalem.  The  prophets  hastened  on  before  to 
climb  the  mountain  tops  and  catch  the  light  of  the 
greater  years;  the  priests  lingered  behind  to 
organize,  to  build  temples  and  minister  at  altars, 
to  found  and  conserve  institutionalized  forms.  As 
the  prophets  caught  the  larger  truths  and  life  of 
the  spirit,  the  highways  of  Zion  were  in  the  soul, 
not  in  ritual  observances;  and  they  would  make 
of  all  the  earth  a  Zion,  a  Jerusalem,  a  vast  empire 
of  souls  filled  with  righteousness.  To  such  a  Zion 
all  the  paths  of  a  noble  loving  life  were  great 
"highways"  along  which  all  souls  might  gladly 
journey;  but  the  Scribe,  the  Pharisee,  the  narrow 
dogmatist  would  close  all  the  shining  highways 
of  a  great  rational  religion  of  humanity  in  this 
tearful  world,  and  leave  open  only  one  narrow 
dark  way  to  a  little  walled -in  heaven  for  a  few 
little  souls;  and  for  these,  not  because  of  any  per- 


317 

sonal  worth  or  merit,  for  what  they  had  tried  to 
be  and  do,  but  saved  by  a  divine  decree,  and 
imputed  merit  and  righteousness  of  another. 

A  great  preacher  and  prophet  of  God,  one 
"in  whose  heart  were  the  highways  of  Zion,11 
and  who  "  passing  through  the  valley  of  weeping 
made  it  a  place  of  springs,11  has  gone  from  our 
city  and  our  world.  No  more  will  he  stand  in  the 
pulpit  to  which  the  many  thousands  have  gladly 
gathered  in  the  last  twenty  years.  Our  dear  Pro- 
fessor Swing  has  "  passed  through  the  valley  of 
weeping.11  This  is  his  first  Sabbath  in  the  tearless 
land.  His  poor  body,  that  can  suffer  no  more,  will 
be  carried  by  those  who  stood  by  him  in  life  to  the 
church  where  he  has  so  long  taught  the  great 
truths  of  a  great  religion;  but  that  voice  is  silent 
now. 

Of  this  great  preacher  it  can  be  truthfully  said, 
"in  his  heart  were  the  highways  of  Zion;  "  not  the 
little  Zion  of  priest  or  sect;  not  the  highways  of 
narrow  dogmatists;  but  the  Zion  of  God,  and  the 
highways  of  the  true,  the  beautiful,  the  good. 

He  saw  the  great  truths.  To  this  man  of  God 
was  given  the  clearer  vision.  He  saw  the  great 
truths  of  Christianity,  hidden  and  almost  lost  in 


•318 

the  maze  and  obscurity  of  the  old  Latin  theology. 
He  saw  the  doubts  that  were  burdening  the  faith 
of  his  age.  He  saw  the  highways  of  reason  and  a 
rational  religion.  He  heard  the  voice  of  God  say- 
ing: "Son  of  man,  prophecy,  speak,  teach;"  and, 
prophet-like,  he  was  true  to  the  vision,  counted 
not  the  cost,  thought  not  of  the  trouble  that 
was  to  come — that  the  old  vessels  could  not  hold 
the  new  wine,  and  that  he  must  go  out  from  his 
old  church  home  and  find  a  free  pulpit  in  which 
to  be  a  free  man — free  as  the  truth  makes  free — 
and  lovingly  to  preach  the  truth  as  he  saw  it. 

The  prophet  is  always  far  in  advance  of  the 
priest.  Standing  on  the  mountains,  he  sees  the  new 
morning,  while  the  priest  stands  down  in  the  shad- 
ows, and  is  trying  to  make  fast,  and  to  bind  relig- 
ion to  the  thought  of  some  long  ago.  Professor 
Swing  was  the  prophet ;  Dr.  Patton  was  the  priest. 
The  one  stood  for  the  "truths  of  to-day;"  the 
other  for  the  mistakes  of  yesterday. 

The  prophet  stood  in  the  clearer  vision  of  the 
divine;  the  priest  stood  for  a  confession  of  faith 
formulated  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  when 
the  church  was  busy  burning  witches.  The  priest 
had  back  of  him    these   old   interpretations   or 


319 

declarations  of  what  the  minds  of  that  time 
thought  to  be  true.  These  were  held  up  as  author- 
it}',  and  the  statement  was  boldly  made  that  the 
question  of  their  truth  or  falsehood  was  not  in 
debate.  The  only  question  was,  Did  Professor 
Swing  believe  them  ?  Tf  not,  the  doctrine  was 
that  he  had  no  right  to  remain  in  a  church  built 
upon  them  and  pledged  to  their  support. 

Technically,  legally,  such  a  position  may  be 
well  taken;  but  it  makes  the  thought  of  the  past 
a  finality,  cuts  off  the  possibility  of  progress, 
leaves  no  room  for  the  growth  of  ideas,  no  place 
for  the  new  and  larger  faith  of  man  in  all  the 
great  and  better  years  of  the  future.  In  every- 
thing else  there  may  be  progress;  religion  alone 
must  stand  still.  And,  more  than  this,  such  a 
position  not  only  binds  the  reason  of  man  to  a 
special  interpretation  of  the  Bible — in  effect  puts 
it  in  place  of  the  Bible — but  it  emphasizes  this 
special  form  of  faith  as  the  essential  thing  in 
religion — makes  creed  greater  than  life. 

And  thus  the  great  trial  for  heresy  came — had 
to  come.  Standing  in  the  light  of  truth,  the 
prophet  could  not  unsay  what  he  had  said.  Stand- 
ing by  the  altars  of  creed,  of  authority,  the  priest 


320 

demanded  strict  conformity  to  law.  Good  men 
sought  the  mediation  of  larger  toleration  and  per- 
sonal liberty,  but  in  vain.  With  all  his  greatness 
of  intellect,  sweetness  and  beauty  of  life,  Professor 
Swing  was  pushed  out  of  the  Presbyterian  Church 
as  a  heretic,  and  Dr.  Patton  was  honored,  extolled, 
petted  and  rewarded  as  the  "  defender  of  the 
faith." 

And  each,  from  his  standpoint,  was  right.  The 
true  man  can  be  true  to  himself  and  to  truth,  only 
as  he  stands  by  what  to  him  is  true.  The  great 
preachers  can  not  be  bound  by  majority  votes  and 
decisions.  They  must  be  free  in  the  world  of  truth, 
and  stand  with  open  face  before  God.  Such  was 
Professor  Swing,  as  simple,  as  honest,  as  humble 
as  a  child,  and  utterly  incapable  of  mental  trickery 
or  duplicity.  He  could  not  deceive  himself  as  to 
his  own  real  beliefs,  and  he  would  not  deceive 
others.  Judged  by  the  standards  of  orthodoxy,  he 
was  not  orthodox.  He  did  not  claim  to  be.  He 
did  not  accept  as  literal  the  story  of  the  fall  of 
man,  did  not  believe  in  the  doctrines  of  original 
sin,  substitutional  or  penal  atonement,  and  endless 
punishment ;  but  he  did  believe  in  the  great  truths 
of  the  new  theology,  lived  in  the  great  spiritual 


821 

verities  of  religion,  and  felt  that  a  great'  Christian 
Church  should  be  large  enough  to  hold  the  tli ink- 
ing of  its  children,  and  tolerant  enough  not  to 
oppose  their  highest  conceptions  of  truth. 

From  Dr.  Patton's  standpoint  the  church  had 
the  truth — had  all  it  ever  could  have.  Orthodoxy 
was  the  only  and  final  statement,  and  this  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  church,  at  any  and  every  cost,  to 
defend.  If  really  sincere  in  this,  there  was  only 
one  thing  to  do.  That  one  thing  he  did  do,  and, 
in  doing  it,  if  his  theory  be  accepted,  he  per- 
formed a  high  and  sacred  duty  and  was  worthy 
of  all  praise. 

But  is  the  theory  correct  ?  Is  there  no  truth 
outside  of  orthodox  churches  ?  Will  these  churches 
continue  to  claim  a  monopoly  of  salvation  \  Great 
changes  have  come  in  the  world  of  thought  in  the 
last  twenty  years.  The  new  theology  is  taking 
the  place  of  the  old.  The  heresy  of  yesterday  is 
becoming  the  orthodoxy  of  to-day,  and  the  larger 
and  better  faith  is  finding  its  way  into  nearly  all 
the  great  pulpits.  Will  the  churches  turn  out 
these  prophets  of  the  new  age  ?  Will  the  prophets 
be  true  to  the  voice  and  vision  of  God  and  the 
growing  thought  and  need  of  a  world?     These 


322 

arc  the  questions  that  are  still  troubling  the  ortho- 
dox churches.  They  have  claimed  too  much. 
They  hesitate  to  make  concessions,  and  yet  are 
powerless  to  stay  the  great  world-movement  of 
the  new  truth  and  life.  Even  the  conservative 
Gladstone,  seemingly  not  knowing  what  others 
have  written  and  said  along  the  lines  of  his 
own  thinking,  has  come  to  the  higher  view  of 
the  atonement. 

Professor  Swing  has  helped  to  make  plainer 
"  the  highways  of  Zion  " — the  highways  of  a  great 
reasonable  religion;  helped  to  make  easier  the 
path  for  other  feet,  and  to  bring  nearer  the  great 
church  of  humanity,  in  which  all  minds  shall  be 
free  to  learn  and  to  grow,  and  all  hearts  shall 
rejoice  in  the  blessedness  and  joy  of  a  religion 
of  love  and  hope.  In  that  great  soul  there  was 
room  for  Jew  and  Christian,  Catholic  and  Protest- 
ant, Orthodox  and  Liberal;  for  he  saw  all  as 
children  of  the  one  Father,  and  saw  a  good  life  as 
the  meaning  and  end  of  all  these  forms  of  faith 
and  worship.  Hence  he  had  only  kind  words  for 
all.      . 

In  the  heart  of  this  great  preacher  were  the 
highways  of  the  beautiful.    He  loved  nature  and 


323 

art,  loved  continents  and  oceans,  mountains  and 
valleys,  lakes  and  rivers,  flowers,  trees,  the  sky  and 
stars  above.  He  saw,  in  all,  the  presence  and 
goodness  of  God.  To  him  the  vast  world  was  a 
beautiful  home.  He  loved  pictures  and  statuary, 
music  and  literature.  In  that  great  soul  were  all 
the  highways  of  love  and  kindness.  He  bowed 
down  at  the  altars  of  life,  and  could  not  harm 
or  hurt  the  meanest  creature.  He  loved  bird 
and  animal,  friend  and  stranger,  man  and  God. 

"  Passing  through  the  valley  of  weeping,"  such 
a  noble,  toiling  life  has  helped  "make  it  a  place 
of  springs.11  From  a  mind,  clear  as  crystal,  have 
poured  forth  streams  of  purest  thought  and  liter- 
ature ;  from  a  heart  of  love,  springs  of  kindness 
have  made  gentler  the  life  of  man,  and  flowed  on 
down  to  bless  the  poor  brute  world,  and  fountains 
of  life  have  risen  up  to  the  throne  of  God.  He 
has  lived  and  pleaded  for  everything  good;  has 
been  light  in  darkness,  comfort  in  sorrow,  hope  in 
despair,  to  minds  and  hearts  unnumbered,  un- 
known. 

Great  preachers  add  honor  to  cities  and  nations. 
Milan  had  an  Augustine,  Florence  a  Savonarola, 
London  a  Spurgeon,    Brooklyn  a  Beecher,  Chi- 


324 

cago  a  David  Swing.  That  name,  stricken  from 
the  pages  of  a  Presbytery  and  Synod,  was  written 
quickly  and  forever  in  the  heart  of  humanity. 
We  are  lonesome,  the  world  is  poorer,  that  he  is 
not  here.  It  was  so  unexpected.  We  hoped  he 
might  live  and  work  on  to  the  end  of  the  century. 
He  belonged  to  us  all.  There  is  such  a  feeling  of 
absence,  of  vacancy,  of  something  gone, — as  if 
some  sun -crowned  height  on  which  we  had  often 
looked  had  suddenly  dropped  from  its  place 
among  the  mountains;  but,  in  form  transfigured, 
glorified,  he  will  not  be  far  away,  but  near,  in  the 
deathless  world  of  memory,  of  love  and  hope,  till 
the  valley  of  weeping  is  passed  through. 

We  sorrow  with  his  family  and  with  his  church, 
and  pray  that  some  one  will  run  forward  and  lift 
up  the  banner  carried  so  long,  but  dropped  in 
death  by  this  great  preacher  and  teacher.  Noble 
friend,  prophet  of  God,  caught  up  to  the  heavens, 
farewell,  till  the  night  is  passed  and  the  morning 
dawns. 


an  Estimate  of  the  Character  anfc  Morfc 
of  Bavifc  Swing. 

JBs  IRcv.  ffrefcericfe  21.  IHoblc,  S>.2>. 

"Your  fathers,  where  are  they?  and  the  prophets,  do  they  live 
forever?" — Zach.  i.  5. 

For  a  period  of  more  than  twenty  years  David 
Swing  has  had  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  life  of 
Chicago.  Like  the  merchant  princes  who  have 
grown  up  here,  and  the  manufacturers  of  wide 
renown,  his  name  and  fame  have  come  to  be 
closely  identified  with  the  name  and  fame  of  our 
city.  Few  are  the  intelligent  men,  especially  in 
this  land,  who  have  known  of  the  activity  and 
growth  of  this  vast  metropolis,  who  have  not 
known  something  also  of  the  celebrated  Music 
Hall  preacher.  He  spoke  to  large  numbers  from 
Sunday  to  Sunday,  and  the  printed  page  pro- 
longed his  voice  and  carried  his  words  afar. 

Now  that  his  remarkable  career  is  ended,  and 
his  work  is  done,  save  in  such  subtle  and  abiding 
influences  of  it  as  death  has  no  power  to  arrest,  it 
seems  good  to  pause  long  enough  by  his  closed 
casket  to  acknowledge  his  excellencies  and  to 
pay  such  tribute  as  is  his  just   due,  and  to   come 


326 

to  some  well-grounded  conclusions  touching  the 
value  of  the  services  he  rendered  to  religion  and 
society.  So  much  was  done  in  this  pulpit  when 
announcements  reached  us,  in  turn,  that  Beecher 
and  Spurgeon  and  Brooks  had  ceased  from  their 
labors  and  passed  into  the  heavens.  Pursuing 
a  similar  course  with  reference  to  Professor  Swing, 
I  shall  attempt  this  morning  to  tell  the  story,  in 
brief,  of  his  life,  and  to  make  as  intelligent  and 
candid  an  estimate  as  I  may  of  his  character  and 
work. 

Many  things  in  the  make-up  and  method  of 
Professor  Swing  are  much  more  readily  under- 
stood when  it  is  known  that  he  was  of  German 
descent.  Like  all  of  the  higher  type  who  are 
Germans,  or  who  have  German  blood  in  their 
veins,  he  was  cosmopolitan  in  his  appreciations 
and  sympathies,  and  could  easily  enter  into  fel- 
lowship with  the  representatives  of  every  nation- 
ality ;  but  there  was  a  peculiarity  in  the  working 
of  his  mind  and  the  expression  of  his  thoughts, 
which  differentiated  him  from  the  pure  Scotch- 
man, or  the  pure  Englishman,  or  the  pure  French- 
man, and  indicated  kinship  with  the  marvelous 
people  whose  modes  of   apprehending  and  pre- 


••'.27 

seiiting  truth  are  at  once  searching  and  pictur- 
esque, subtle  and  poetic,  and  whose  genius  has 
illustration  on  the  one  side  in  the  mystic  creations 
of  Jacob  Bohme,  and  on  the  other  in  the  sublime 
productions  of  Goethe. 

But  the  German  strain  which  left  its  impress 
on  his  intellectual  and  moral  nature  brought  him 
neither  social  distinction  nor  wealth.  Like  Car- 
lyle,  like  Livingstone,  like  Paton,  like  Garfield, 
he  was  born  to  poverty.  Not  to  abject  poverty. 
For  as  Mr.  Blaine  showed,  in  his  great  oration  in 
commemoration  of  his  murdered  chief,  there  is  a 
wide  margin  of  difference  between  the  poverty  of 
those  who,  while  straitened  in  outward  circum- 
stances, are  yet  self-respecting  and  intelligent  and 
virtuous  and  aspiring,  and  those  who,  not  having 
anything,  are  quite  content  to  remain  as  they  are, 
and  who  from  generation  to  generation  live  on  in 
a  state  of  dependence  and  often  of  degradation. 

To  add  to  the  embarrassment  occasioned  by 
limited  means,  his  father  was  swept  away  by  the 
scourge  of  cholera  which  visited  Cincinnati,  the 
place  of  Swing's  nativity,  in  1832;  and  the  child, 
so  full  of  unknown  promise,  was  left  a  half- 
orphan  while  only  two  years  of  age. 


328 

It  calls  for  no  extraordinary  exercise  of  the  im- 
agination to  picture  the  struggles  through  which 
this  mother,  said  on  all  sides  to  have  been  an 
exceptionally  earnest,  faithful,  and  devoted  Chris- 
tian woman,  must  have  passed  in  order  to  keep 
her  home  unbroken,  and  her  two  cherished  boys, 
David  and  his  brother,  comfortably  sheltered  and 
clad  and  fed.  God  is  on  the  side  of  such  mothers, 
because  such  mothers  are  on  the  side  of  God; 
and  somehow  they  are  led  through  their  trials, 
and  in  due  time  society  sees  them  emerging  from 
darkness  into  light.  Like  another  Cornelia  look- 
ing into  the  upturned  faces  of  the  two  Gracchi 
and  declaring  them  to  be  her  jewels,  one  can 
think  of  this  Ohio  mother  as  often  looking  out 
upon  the  breadth  and  splendor  of  wealth  about 
her,  and  then  taking  these  two  sons  by  the  hand 
and  exclaiming  in  quiet  triumph,  "These  are  my 
possessions." 

At  the  end  of  five  years,  the  Cincinnati  home 
was  abandoned,  and  a  new  one  was  formed  out 
in  the  country.  Three  years  later,  or  when  young 
Swing  was  ten  years  of  age,  there  was  still 
another  change  of  location,  and,  in  virtue  of  this 
change,  the  lad  was  to  have  eight  consecutive 
years  of  experience  on  a  farm. 


329 

Farming  in  the  West  is  so  unlike  farming  in 
the  East  that  one  brought  up  on  a  hillside  of 
New  England  can  not  be  sure  that  handling  tools, 
and  managing  cattle,  and  sowing  and  reaping,  and 
building  fires,  and  mending  fences,  and  going  to 
mill,  mean  exactly  to  him  what  they  mean  to  one 
whose  agricultural  training  was  on  the  prairies  or 
in  the  river  valleys  of  this  wide  and  fertile  interior 
of  our  land.  But  all  that  is  best  and  most  signifi- 
cant in  the  experience  they  share  in  common. 
East  or  West,  the  boy  on  the  farm  lives  the  larger 
part  of  his  active  life  out  under  the  broad  open 
sky.  He  grows  familiar  with  the  varying  hues 
and  shapes  of  clouds  and  the  sweep  of  storms. 
He  smells  the  fresh  odor  of  the  mold  when 
the  furrow  is  turned,  or  the  hoe  finds  its  way  to 
the  roots  of  weeds.  He  observes  with  delight 
the  unfolding  of  vegetation  from  the  time  when 
the  seed  swells  and  bursts  through  the  crust  of  the 
earth  till  maturity  has  been  reached.  He  watches 
the  procession  of  the  fiowers,  and  very  soon  is 
able  to  predict  what  new  beauty  in  each  succeed- 
ing spring  day  will  greet  the  eye,  and  what  new 
fragrance  will  be  in  the  air,  as  he  goes  forth  to 
his  toil.     He  gets  on  good  terms  with  the  birds, 


330 

and  quickly  understands  in  what  order  swallow 
and  bluebird,  and  sparrow  and  thrush,  and  robin 
and  oriole  and  bobolink,  will  make  their  appear- 
ance in  tree-top  and  glen.  He  becomes  familiar 
with  the  moods  of  horses  and  sheep  and  cows, 
and  in  instances  not  a  few  comes  to  have  a  deeper 
insight  into  human  nature  from  what  he  knows 
of  brute  nature.  The  whole  realm  of  the  exte- 
rior world,  with  its  suns  and  its  stars,  with  its 
revolving  seasons  and  growths,  with  its  varied 
forms  and  forces  of  life,  is  open  to  a  youth  whose 
daily  tasks  take  him  to  field  and  pasture  and  gar- 
den, as  to  hardly  any  other  youth.  Some  of  the 
sweetest  and  most  pathetic  of  his  songs  Robert 
Burns  would  never  have  left  us,  had  he  not  fol- 
lowed the  plow,  and  seen  daisies  ruthlessly  turned 
under  the  sod,  and  poor,  timid  little  mice  scam- 
pering away  in  fright,  because  their  nests  were 
invaded  and  destroyed.  Those  eight  years  on 
the  farm  meant  much  beside  mere  physical  health 
and  strength  to  the  live  brain  of  David  Swing. 

The  eight  years  of  farm  life,  however,  came  to 
an  end,  and  at  the  close  of  these  years,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  other  things  he  had  done,  and  the 
other    benefits   he   had    gained,   the  young  man 


331 

was  found  to  be  fitted  for  college.  The  work 
had  been  done  by  a  Presbyterian  minister,  who, 
quite  likely,  had  put  the  thought  of  going  to  col- 
lege into  the  boy's  head,  as  well  as  helped  him  to 
realize  it.  Miami  University  was  the  institution 
chosen  for  pursuing  a  classical  course.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  college  at  Oxford  forty 
years  ago  was  not  what  it  is  now.  When  this 
boy  entered  it,  it  had  been  a  college  only  six- 
teen years.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  it  could 
not  afford  such  amplitude  of  facility  for  educa^ 
tion  in  all  departments  and  branches  as  some 
of  the  older  and  more  richly  endowed  institutions 
of  the  East ;  but  people  who  decry  colleges  because 
they  are  small  and  young,  and  think  it  foolish  to 
have  attempted  to  establish  so  many  of  them, 
especially  in  states  and  territories  west  of  the 
Alleghanies,  know  little  of  what  they  are  saying. 
Had  it  not  been  for  this  small  college,  or  for 
some  other  small  college  not  far  away,  where 
expenses  were  light,  and  with  teachers  in  its  sev- 
eral chairs  wTell  able  to  go  to  the  heart  of  ancient 
learning,  and  to  deal  intelligently  and  courage- 
ously with  the  modern  problems  of  life,  it  is  a 
question  which  hardly  admits  of  more  than  one 


332 

answer,  whether  this  active-minded  and  aspir- 
ing young  man  would  ever  have  found  his  way 
into  academic  halls.  It  is  certain  that  all  about 
us  there  are  men  by  the  score  and  score,  who  are 
eminent  in  their  professions,  and  who  are  making 
splendid  records  of  usefulness,  who  never  would 
have  got  their  start  without  the  aid  of  the  small 
colleges.  Perhaps  there  is  no  moral  which  the 
life  of  our  dead  preacher  points  more  distinctly 
than  this. 

In  the  way  of  early  biographical  details,  it 
remains  simply  to  say,  that  after  young  Swing 
had  graduated  he  studied  theology,  for  a  couple 
of  years,  under  the  direction  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Rice,  of  Cincinnati.  Before  completing  full 
preparation  for  the  ministry,  however,  he  was 
called  to  occupy  the  chair  of  Greek  and  Latin  in 
his  Alma  Mater.  This  chair  he  filled  for  some- 
thing like  a  dozen  years.  He  might  have  re- 
mained there  to  the  end  had  he  been  willing  to 
stay;  for  his  teaching  was  exceptionally  suc- 
cessful. He  reproduced  ancient  scenes,  and 
handled  the  great  thoughts  of  the  great  minds 
of  the  old  Greek  and  Roman  nations,  with  an 
appreciation  and  an  enthusiasm  which  kept  his 


333 

own   soul  aglow,  and   fired   with   high   heat   the 
souls  of  those  who  waited  on  his  instructions. 

Twenty -eight  years  ago  Professor  Swing  came 
to  Chicago.  From  the  day  he  arrived  and  took 
up  his  work,  till  the  day  he  died,  his  name  has 
been  a  household  word  in  this  community,  and 
his  sayings  and  doings  have  been  recognized  fac- 
tors in  the  development  of  our  common  life.  For 
almost  three  decades  he  has  been  a  voice  in  the 
midst  of  this  people,  giving  out  the  truth  in  such 
form  and  manner  as  he  conceived  it  to  be  truth, 
sometimes  expressing  and  sometimes  molding 
public  opinion,  but  always  commanding  attention. 
Among  his  adherents  his  popularity  never  waned, 
and  the  interest  strangers  took  in  hearing  him 
increased  rather  than  diminished.  His  career 
was  unique,  and  his  success  was  phenomenal.  It 
is  easy  to  recall  the  names  of  men  who  have  main- 
tained themselves  on  independent  platforms,  but 
there  is  no  case  exactly  parallel  to  this. 

What  now  is  the  secret  of  this  unique  career? 
In  what  quarter  shall  we  look  for  the  explanation 
of  a  success  so  marked  ? 

We  shall  miss  it  immensely  if  we  attribute  it 
all  to  his  liberal  views,  and  to  the  interest  which 


334 

the  outside  world,  through  its  newspapers  and 
platforms,  and  otherwise,  is  wont  to  take  in  one 
who  is  supposed  to  be  at  irreconcilable  odds 
with  orthodoxy.  This  was  one  element,  and  a 
very  controlling  element,  of  the  esteem  in  which 
he  was  held  in  the  popular  heart  and  of  the 
attachment  with  which  multitudes  clung  to  him. 
But  it  was  only  one.  He  had  merits  quite  outside 
and  beyond  all  those  which  men  are  in  the  habit 
of  associating  with  that  courage  of  conviction 
which  is  sufficiently  denned  and  robust  to  dissent 
from  commonly  accepted  views  in  religion.  He 
was  a  man  of  rare  gifts  and  rare  acquisitions. 

1.  To  begin  with,  much  is  to  be  set  down  to 
the  purity  and  loftiness  of  his  character.  He 
was  not  sweet-tempered  merely,  and  loving  and 
kind  and  helpful  merely;  but  he  was  a  man  so 
clean  and  elevated  in  his  life,  so  ideal  in  his 
thoughts  and  words,  and  habits,  and  tastes,  and 
associations,  that  it  seems  almost  like  an  imper- 
tinence to  commend  him  for  the  possession  of 
high  moral  qualities.  These  qualities  were  so 
much  a  part  of  him,  they  entered  so  vitally  into 
his  personality,  that  one  can  not  think  of  the  man 
without  thinking  of  him  as  the  embodiment  and 
expression  of  an  imposing  uprightness   of  soul. 


335 

Such  character,  as  a  certificate  of  sincerity,  and  a 
re-enforcement  of  what  one  says  and  does,  can 
hardly  be  over-estimated.  When  William  M. 
Evarts  was  once  asked  to  account"  for  the  strong 
hold  Dr.  John  Hall  had  taken  on  the  people  of 
New  York,  his  prompt  answer  was,  "  His  superb 
character."  Character  tells.  The  loftier  the  char- 
acter, the  more  positive  and  far-reaching  the 
influence  of  the  man  who  possesses  the  charac- 
ter. If  the  character  be  defective,  especially  if  it 
be  defective  to  the  point  of  falseness,  the  words 
one  speaks,  though  they  be  brilliant  as  flashes  in 
the  northern  sky,  will  be  wingless,  and  as  weak 
as  the  chatter  of  a  group  of  imbeciles.  One  can 
think  of  a  man  in  an  eastern  city,  who  had  excep- 
tional abilities  and  a  large  following,  and  who 
broke  away  from  the  old  faith  and  set  up  on  an 
independent  basis,  but  who  came  to  quick  col- 
lapse because  his  character  was  discovered  to  be 
bad.  One  can  think  of  a  man  in  a  western  city, 
who  has  marked  capacity  of  thought  and  speech, 
and  who  has  sought  to  make  of  his  free  opinion 
a  working  capital;  but  his  questionable  charac- 
ter has  wrecked  him.  Professor  Swing  had  an 
unimpeachable  character. 


336 

2,  In  addition  to  this  high  type  of  character, 
Professor  Swing  was  magnificently  equipped  for 
the  kind  of  pulpit  work  he  was  to  do.  He  had  a 
cast  of  mind  peculiar  to  himself,  and  to  many 
people  exceedingly  interesting;  but  this  was  not 
all.  He  had  a  well -disciplined  mind,  and  a  full 
mind.  He  knew  things.  Science  had  brought 
him  treasures  of  knowledge.  History  had  poured 
her  vast  wealth  at  his  feet.  Literature  had 
opened  its  choicest  pages  to  his  eager  search. 
Philosophers  and  poets  and  quaint  and  unheard- 
of  authors  had  taken  him  into  their  fellowship 
and  whispered  their  secrets  in  his  ear.  Remem- 
ber, he  had  his  early  out-door  training,  of  which 
he  made  much,  and  his  college  preparation, 
which  was  exceptionally  good  because  he  made 
it  so;  and  his  four  years  in  the  university 
were  years  of  golden  opportunity  coined  into  a 
splendid  record;  and  his  two  years  of  special 
theological  study  and  training  with  an  eminent 
minister;  and  then,  plus  all  this,  he  had  twelve 
years  of  life  in  a  professor's  chair,  which  he  used 
to  such  advantage  in  his  own  discipline  and  devel- 
opment, that  Greek  and  Latin  came  to  be  to  him 
almost     like  a  mother-tongue,   and  Homer  and 


387 

^Eschylus  and  Vergil  grew  well-nigh  as  familiar 
to  his  thought  as  Shakespeare  and  Milton  and 
Whittier.  His  sense  of  the  value  of  these  old 
classics  was  cropping  out  continually  in  his  ser- 
mons. His  fondness  for  the  Greeks  and  their 
tongue  was  the  fondness  of  a  mother  for  her 
children.  Here  is  a  paragraph  from  one  of  his 
tributes  of  admiration:  "The  Greek  language  is 
still  almost  an  unsurpassed  tongue.  Eighteen 
hundred  years  have  added  only  a  small  area  to 
the  scope  of  that  vast  speech.  There  is  scarcely 
a  question  of  the  present  day  discussed,  that  was 
not  reviewed  by  the  Greek  thinkers  and  stowed 
away  in  their  manuscripts.  Their  essays  upon 
education,  upon  health,  upon  art,  upon  amuse- 
ments, upon  war,  read  almost  as  though  they 
were  written  yesterday.  Even  that  question 
which  seems  our  own,  the  creation  and  property 
of  this  generation — whether  women  should  vote 
and  follow  manly  pursuits  —  is  all  fully  discussed 
in  'Plato's  Ideal  Republic."' 

His  information  was  both  thorough  and  wide, 
and  he  was  master  of  it.  He  knew  what  had 
been  the  achievements  of  thought  in  Egypt  and 
India.     He  knew  the  art  of  Italy.     He  knew  the 


338 

story  of  inventors  and  explorers.  He  knew  the 
triumphs  and  problems  of  modern  research.  He 
knew  what  all  the  great  writers  of  romance  have 
said  and  taught. 

These  vast  stores  of  knowledge  he  turned  to 
account  in  his  preaching.  In  a  single  discourse 
one  might  often  detect  contributions  of  fact,  or 
reference,  or  incident,  brought  in  from  almost  all 
the  lands  and  ages,  and  from  almost  all  the  realms 
of  investigation  and  study.  In  this  way,  he 
maintained  an  unflagging  interest,  and  kept  what- 
ever he  was  saying  bright  with  the  flash  of  jewels 
gathered  from  afar.  He  did  not  attempt  to  illus- 
trate his  speech  with  touching  anecdotes,  like 
Spencer  and  Guthrie;  nor  to  punctuate  his  writing 
with  over-many  crisp,  sharp  sentences,  like  Spur- 
geon  and  Parkhurst;  nor  to  create  dramatic  situ- 
ations with  which  to  surprise  the  mind,  like 
Parker  and  Talmage;  nor  to  force  all  the  vary- 
ing moods  of  the  heart,  and  all  the  wide  experi- 
ences of  life  to  aid  him  in  impressing  his 
thoughts,  like  Luther  and  Beecher;  nor  to  bring 
forward  the  stories  and  characters  and  striking 
events  of  the  Scriptures  to  point  his  periods,  like 
Hall   and  Taylor;  nor  to  put  a  torrent  of  energy 


339 

into  his  words  to  sweep  them  on  from  source  to 
sea  with  the  irresistible  and  awful  rni<dit  of  a 
swollen  river,  like  Robertson  and  Brooks;  but, 
for  all  this,  he  kept  his  utterances  so  alive  with 
present-day  interest,  and  so  illuminated  with 
light  of  star  and  reflection  of  flower,  and  so  warm 
with  a  half -suppressed  passion,  and  so  fresh  and 
beautiful  with  the  garments  of  fancy  which  he 
wove  and  threw  over  all  his  forms  of  thought, 
that  nobody  ever  grew  weary  or  dull  of  mind 
under  his  presentation  of  a  truth.  If  his  ser- 
mons were  not  so  much  sermons  as  essays — essays 
on  the  model  of  Aurelius,  or  Plutarch,  or  Emer- 
son, or  Lowell  —  it  is  still  true  that  the  wonderful 
fascination  and  power  of  them,  or  a  share  of  it 
at  any  rate,  must  be  sought  in  the  masterly  skill 
and  wealth  of  learning  and  poetic  coloring  he 
was  able  to  give  them. 

There  is  a  lesson  here  for  all  who  contemplate 
entering  the  ministry.  It  is  the  lesson  of  thor- 
oughness of  preparation  for  the  great  work.  If 
a  man  has  nothing  in  him,  and  no  capability  of 
having  anything  put  into  him,  and  is  nevertheless 
determined  to  engage  in  the  ministry  of  Jesus 
Christ,  let  him  rush  into  it.     The  quicker  lie  goes 


340 

in,  the  better;  for  the  quicker  he  goes  in,  the 
quicker  he  will  get  out.  But  just  in  the  ratio  in 
which  men  have  natural  fitness  for  the  high  busi- 
ness of  preaching  the  Gospel,  and  are  sincere 
and  earnest,  and  consecrated,  do  they  need  to 
take  time  to  discipline  their  minds  and  fill  them 
with  knowledge.  Had  I  the  ear  of  theological 
students,  I  should  say  to  them:  Read,  read,  read. 
Read  the  great  histories.  Read  the  great  poetries. 
Read  the  great  essays.  Read  the  great  biogra- 
phies. Read  the  great  romances.  Read  the 
great  results  of  science.  Read  other  things  ?  Of 
course.  This  goes  without  saying.  But  read, 
read,  and  still  read. 

3.  Professor  Swing  won  the  confidence  of 
large  numbers  of  the  best  people  of  the  commun- 
ity, and  brought  them  into  close  affiliation  with 
his  teachings  and  suggestions,  by  the  profound 
and  wise  and  helpful  and  unremitting  interest  he 
took  in  social  and  ethical  questions.  His  word 
stood  for  pure,  manly  living  in  the  individual ;  for 
sweet  homes;  for  refinement  and  culture  and  noble 
aspirations  in  social  circles;  for  good  schools  and 
good  books  and  good  music  and  good  pictures, 
and  good  habits ;  for  high  standards  in  business 


341 

spheres;  for  clean  politics  and  patriotic  devotion 
to  the  welfare  of  the  state;  for  temperance,  and 
liberty,  and  humanity,  and  justice;  for  a  fellow- 
ship which  should  bind  into  one,  as  with  cords 
braided  out  of  the  love  of  God  in  Christ,  the 
weak  and  the  strong,  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the 
low  and  the  high,  and  make  them  all  feel  the 
sacredness  and  beauty  of  human  brotherhood. 

In  no  crisis  in  our  city  or  commonwealth, 
when  sharp,  ringing  voices  were  needed  on  the 
right  side  to  keep  men  level-headed  and  stanch, 
did  he  ever  falter.  When  the  red  nag  was  lifted 
up,  and  mad  agitators  wrote  what  amounted  to 
"divide  or  die1'  across  their  banners,  and  the 
authorities  were  thinking  more  of  the  votes  they 
might  want  in  some  coming  election  than  of  the 
peace  and  order  they  had  solemnly  promised  to 
maintain  and  the  protection  they  had  sworn  to 
afford,  he  threw  the  influence  of  his  own  name, 
and,  so  far  as  he  could,  the  influence  of  the  con- 
gregation he  represented,  into  the  scale  against 
anarchy.  When  waves  of  poverty  and  distress 
suddenly  rolled  in  upon  us,  a  year  ago,  and 
threatened  to  whelm  us  under  their  weight,  he 
uttered  the  most  searching  and  courageous  and 


342 

helpful  words  which  found  expression  in  any  of 
our  pulpits.  He  went  to  the  root  of  the  matter, 
and,  while  urging  the  people  to  whom  he  spoke 
to  give  of  their  abundant  wealth  to  help  the 
needy,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  these  wretched, 
starving  people  just  why  they  were  wretched  and 
starving.  They  had  been  sowing  to  the  wind  of 
idleness  and  unthrift  and  self-indulgence  and 
intemperance,  and  they  were  reaping  the  whirl- 
wind of  want  and  woe.  In  the  discourse  deliv- 
ered by  him  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  from  his  desk 
in  Central  Music  Hall,  his  first  for  this  new  year 
of  work,  and  his  last— forever,  he  handled  the 
whole  subject  of  our  recent  strike  and  riot  in  a 
way  to  show  how  clear  was  his  insight  into  j)res- 
ent  conditions  and  perils,  and  how  firm  his  grasp 
on  the  principles  which  must  be  accepted  and 
followed,  if  peace  is  to  be  preserved,  and  labor 
and  capital  are  to  be  reconciled  for  good. 

Whatever  he  did  not  find  in  it,  Professor 
Swing  found  in  Christianity  these  two  things: 
He  found  the  highest  rule  for  the  government  of 
individual  conduct,  and  he  found  the  highest 
system  of  political  economy  which  the  world  has 
ever  known. 


348 

Here  is  a  passage  from  a  sermon  in  "Truths 
for  To-day:"  "It  would  seem  that  Paul,  in  his 
chapter  upon  Charity,  was  expressly  describing 
the  perfect  gentleman.  'Charity  suffereth  long 
and  is  kind.  Charity  envieth  not.  Charity 
boasteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is 
not  easily  provoked,  thinketh  no  evil,  rejoiceth 
not  in  iniquity  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth;  bear- 
eth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 
things,  endureth  all  things.'  " 

Having  said  this,  he  goes  on  to  show  that  our 
philosophers  and  political  economists  and  states- 
men have  made,  not  only  a  very  grievous,  but  a 
very  foolish  mistake,  in  permitting  their  preju- 
dices to  come  in  and  interfere  with  turning  to 
the  Bible  to  find  the  foundation-stones  on  which 
to  erect  a  S}rstem  for  the  regulation  of  the  rela- 
tions of  man  to  man  in  society.  "It  has  long 
been  a  custom,"  so  he  says,  "  of  philosophers,  to 
pass  in  silence  any  lessons  of  civilization  upon 
the  pages  of  scripture,  and  patiently  to  seek  and 
deeply  to  love  everything  in  Aristotle  or  Plato — 
a  blossoming  of  prejudice  only  paralleled  by  the 
Christians  who  despise  everything  from  Plato  or 
Aristotle.11     This  conviction  deepened  with  him. 


844 

He  saw  no  rules  to  guide  individuals  and  no 
basis  of  good  citizenship  at  all  comparable  to 
those  furnished  by  Christianity. 

By  his  identification  with  moral  causes,  and 
his  uniform  and  earnest  advocacy  of  righteous- 
ness in  all  the  relations  of  life,  this  man  helped 
to  create  a  wholesome  public  opinion  in  Chicago, 
and  to  keep  thought  and  life  at  a  higher  level. 
Immorality  has  been  made  to  seem  grosser,  and 
meanness  meaner,  and  selfishness  more  contempt- 
ible, and  official  corruption  more  criminal,  because 
of  words  spoken  by  this  great  and  scholarly 
preacher.  What  is  not  less  to  his  credit,  he  has 
had  the  courage  to  look  men  of  wealth  in  the 
face  and  tell  them  what,  in  virtue  of  their  wealth, 
they  owe  to  education,  to  art,  to  philanthropy, 
to  the  state,  and  to  the  uplifting  of  the  masses 
of  ignorant  and  degraded  and  vicious  humanity 
with  which  they  are  daily  jostled  on  the  streets. 
The  tonic  energy  of  this  teaching  will  be  missed 
in  the  days  to  come. 

4.  Beyond  all  this,  Professor  Swing  held  with 
a  tenacious  grasp  to  some  articles  of  faith  which 
must  have  a  place  in  any  system  of  Christian 
theology,  and  some  of  which,  indeed,  are  vital 
and  fundamental  to  any  system  of  religion. 


345 

Like  all  men  who  have  any  intelligent  thought 
and  convictions  on  the  subject  of  their  own  exist- 
ence, and  their  relation  to  the  universe  and  the 
powers  of  the  universe  which  are  about  them, 
he  had  a  creed.  It  was  not  so  long  a  creed,  and 
it  did  not  comprehend  so  much  as  the  creeds  of 
some  other  men.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are 
creeds  not  nearly  so  long  and  not  nearly  so  com- 
prehensive. To  accept  one  of  his  own  latest 
statements,  he  believed  in  God,  and  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  and  in  the  love  of 
Christ.  This  is  not  all  there  is  to  believe,  nor 
all  that  it  is  rational  to  believe;  but  when  a  man 
accepts  God  in  his  personality  and  fatherhood, 
with  all  these  conceptions  imply,  and  the  great 
doctrine  of  immortality  as  something  inherent  in 
the  soul  and  necessary  to  any  exalted  and  worthy 
idea  of  our  natures,  and  the  love  of  Christ  as 
being  the  purest  and  warmest  and  most  trans- 
forming love  which  ever  finds  its  way  into  the 
human  heart  and  mingles  with  the  currents  of 
human  life,  he  has  a  basis  of  truth  on  which  he 
can  stand  and  do  a  certain  kind  of  very  effective 
work.  Such  a  man,  at  least,  can  be  a  break- 
water  against    incoming   floods  of    materialism, 


340 

and  possibly  hold  back  some  doubting  soul  from 
rushing  on  to  the  extreme  limit  and  plunging 
over  the  awful  abyss  of  absolute  and  utter  nega- 
tion. There  is  no  age  and  no  condition  in  which 
the  assertion  of  things  spiritual  is  not  worth 
much  to  mankind.  We  are  of  the  earth,  earthy; 
but  we  are  also  of  God,  and  may  be  godly. 

This  man  who  has  just  gone  out  from  us  never 
wearied  of  avowing  his  faith  in  things  unseen  and 
eternal,  in  mind  over  matter,  in  a  soulhood 
superior  to  the  body,  in  God  immanent  in  nature 
but  above  and  behind  nature,  and  in  realms  of 
existence  which  are  invisible  and  everlasting. 
Even  here  and  now,  he  sees,  just  as  the  New  Tes- 
tament writers  one  and  all  saw,  that  one  may 
enter  on  this  life  of  the  inner  over  the  outer,  and 
have  foretastes  of  the  ever-enduring.  "  Spirit- 
uality! "  he  says:  "This  is  nothing  else  than  a 
divineness  of  soul,  a  rising  above  things  material, 
gold  and  bonds  and  raiment,  and  living  for  the 
soul  in  its  relation  to  time  and  eternity.  God  is 
called  a  spirit  because  there  are  characteristics  in 
all  material  things  which  separate  them  from 
perfection.  The  word  spirit  is  the  ideal  for  the 
everlasting.     It  is  an  embodiment  of  love,  and  of 


347 

thought,  and  of  truth,  and  of  life,  and  hence  is 
felt  to  be  immortal.  The  spiritual  man  is,  hence, 
a  soul  not  wedded  to  dust,  but  to  truth  and  love 
and  life.     To  be  spiritually  minded  is  life.11 

These  are  some  of  the  excellencies  to  be  dis- 
covered in  the  teaching  and  life  of  Professor 
Swing.  In  these  excellencies  lie  some  of  the 
reasons  why  the  community  at  large  put  such  a 
high  estimate  on  his  services,  and  why  so  many 
men  and  women  were  bound  to  him  in  bonds  of 
admiration  and  trust  and  love. 

Why,  then,  not  accept  his  system  and  method, 
and  make  it  the  system  and  method  for  all? 
Simply  because,  holding  and  uttering  whatever  he 
did  of  truth,  there  are,  as  appear  in  reports  of 
his  discourses,  and  in  the  popular  apprehension 
of  his  teaching,  omissions  of  elements  which  are 
central  to  Christianity  as  a  method  of  redemp- 
tion, and  which  enter  essentially  into  the  whole 
scheme  of  truth  which  gathers  about  the  cross, 
and  makes  it  a  working  force  intent  on  the  sal- 
vation  of  all  humanity. 

The  largest  fact  which  it  is  possible  for  the 
mind  of  man  or  angel  to  contemplate  is — God. 
The  largest  fact  of  which  we  can  conceive  in  con- 


348 

nection  with  God  is — love.  The  most  obvious 
and  obtrusive  fact  to  be  discovered  in  connection 
with  man  is — sin.  This  sin  of  man  is  everywhere 
apparent,  and  it  takes  along  with  it  a  train  of 
unutterable  vices  and  miseries  and  woes.  In 
Jesus  the  infinite  love  of  God  and  the  inexpressi- 
ble sin  of  man  are  brought  face  to  face  and  set 
down  at  close  grips.  We  have  it  all  in  the 
matchless  passage :  "  For  God  so  loved  the  world 
that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  avIio- 
soever  believeth  on  him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life."  Jesus  the  Christ  is  there  on 
the  cross  because  man  is  a  sinner  and  God  loves 
him  and  wants  to  save  him.  But  Jesus  is  there 
on  the  cross,  not  as  a  wholesome  influence  merely, 
but  as  an  expiation.  Jesus  Christ  did  not  come 
into  the  world  to  condemn  men.  He  did  not 
need  to  do  this.  Men  were  condemned  already. 
They  had  condemned  themselves  by  their  own 
alienations  and  transgressions.  He  came  to 
deliver  them  from  their  condemnation  and  save 
them.  He  did  this,  so  he  himself  tells  us,  and 
so  the  inspired  apostles  tell  us,  by  atoning 
for  men  in  a  sacrificial  and  vicarious  death.  He 
came  to  be  the  ransom  of  men,  their  Redeemer, 


349 

their  High  Priest,   as  well  as  their  teacher  and 
example  and  brother. 

On  these  two  facts,  sin  and  the  awful  guilt 
and  consequence  of  sin,  and  salvation  through 
the  death  of  the  Son  of  God  on  the  cross,  stress 
must  be  laid.  Not  in  the  interest  of  a  system 
merely  is  this  to  be  done,  but  in  the  interest  of 
the  vitality  and  aggressiveness  and  saving  power 
of  Christianity.  Otherwise  Christianity  has  no 
energy  in  it  to  cope  with  the  conditions  of  the 
problem  which  confronts  it.  For  it  is  not  a  few 
refined  people  alone,  a  few  cultivated  and  select 
circles  with  their  philosophical  troubles  and 
doubtings,  who  are  to  be  ministered  to  and  saved; 
but  it  is  the  people  who  are  down  at  the  bottom 
as  well,  the  people  in  the  alleys  and  slums  and  in 
the  midst  of.  the  far-away  barbarians,  full  of  sin, 
and  ignorant  and  wicked  and  vile;  and  our  system 
of  help  must  be  one  which  will  enable  us  to  deal 
effectually  with  the  raw  material  of  a  wayward 
and  disloyal  humanity.  The  problem  is  to  get 
men,  men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  men  of  all 
races  and  climes,  out  of  sin  into  holiness,  and 
then  to  tire  their  breasts  with  the  zeal  of  holiness. 
In  the  long  run,  it  will  not  do  to  leave  out  of  our 


350 

system  the  features  and  elements  which  exactly 
suit  it  to  this  end.  We  shall  not  reach  the  end 
if  we  do. 

Twenty  years  ago,  Professor  Swing  himself 
said,  "The  impulse  [to  a  good  Christian  activity  ] 
is  faith  in  Christ  as  the  soul's  Savior.  It  has 
always  been  the  power  that  has  carried  the  Pauls 
over  the  ^Egean,  or  the  pioneer  Methodist  to  the 
wilds  of  America.  It  has  been  the  earthquake 
force  that  has  heaved  up  from  a  bitter  sea  a  con- 
tinent of  unfading  flowers  and  perpetual  spring. 
Each  heart  busy  in  any  pursuit  moves  by  a  natural 
impulse.  You  know  what  the  love  of  pleasure 
does,  and  you  know  what  is  accomplished  by 
what  the  Latin  poet  calls  '  accursed  love  of  gold.' 
Beneath  all  activity  lies  an  impulse,  a  motive. 
Under  the  vast  movement  called  salvation,  that 
movement  which  to-day  gathers  the  Laplanders 
to  a  worship,  and  makes  the  Sandwich  Islanders 
join  with  the  angels  in  sacred  song;  beneath  the 
movement  which  to-day  is  the  best  glory  of  all 
civilization,  under  this  vast  renewal  of  the  heart 
— lies  faith  in  Christ,  the  impulse  of  all  this  pro- 
found action.  The  least  trace  of  infidelity  lessens 
the  activity;  unbelief  brings  all  to  a  halt,  and 


351 

damns  the  sou],  not  by  arbitrary  decree,  but  by 
actually  arresting  the  outflow  of  its  life.  Unbelief 
is  not  an  arbitrary,  but  a  natural  damnation. 
Faith  in  the  Infinite  Father,  faith  in  Christ  the 
Savior,  faith  in  a  life  to  come,  lifts  the  world  up 
as  though  the  direct  arms  of  God  were  around  it 
drawing  it  toward  his  bosom.11  These  are  great 
words.  They  were  true  on  the  yesterday  when 
they  were  uttered.  They  are  true  to-day.  They 
wTill  be  true  to-morrow  and  to-morrow.  The 
vital  and  aggressive  force  of  Christianity  lies  in 
souls  redeemed  by  faith  in  a  living  Christ,  and  in 
the  propulsive  energy  derived  from  him. 

In  that  same  period  of  twenty  years  ago,  Pro- 
fessor Swing,  in  a  sermon  in  which  he  felt  called 
upon  to  assert  and  defend  a  positiveness  in  Chris- 
tianity as  against  the  negation  and  emptiness  of 
what  calls  itself  "free  religion,"  spoke  in  this 
strain:  "The  'free  religion,'  so-called,  which 
denies  our  idea  of  prayer,  dissuades  from  hymn 
and  from  hope  in  a  future  life,  does  nothing  but 
empty  the  mind  and  the  heart,  and  hence  can 
never  build  up  a  great  life,  unless  emptiness  of 
soul  is  one  of  the  foundations  of  greatness.  All 
the  moral  greatness  of  the  past  is  based  upon  the 


852 

assumption  of  such  motives  of  God  and  worship 
and  immortality  and  benevolence  and  virtue  and 
duty.  The  great  names  all  grew  up  out  of  such 
soil.  These  propositions  tilled  the  old  hearts 
that  made  this  great  world  we  enjoy  with  its 
education,  its  liberty,  its  morals,  its  religion.  It 
is  too  late,  it  seems  to  me,  to  ask  mankind  to 
empty  its  mind  of  all  these  old,  grand  ideas,  and 
then  expect  a  grandeur  of  character  to  spring  up 
from  nothingness  as  a  soil,  and  to  grow  in  a  space 
which  has  no  rainfall,  no  dew,  no  sunshine,  but 
which  is  only  a  vacuum.  To  expect  a  great 
soul  to  germinate  in  a  soil  of  negation,  and  grow 
in  a  vacuum,  is  to  cherish  a  frail  hope;  and  yet 
this  is  the  prospect  to  which  what  is  called  '  free 
religion '  is  itself  hastening  and  inviting  us." 
Words  again  which  were  true  on  the  yesterday 
on  which  they  were  pronounced,  and  which  are 
true  to-day,  and  which  will  be  true  to-morrow 
and  to-morrow.  It  is  a  positive  faith  in  a  posi- 
tive Christ,  however  the  statement  of  it  may  be 
phrased,  which  secures  the  soul  in  salvation,  and 
tills  the  heart  with  great  aspirations,  and  stirs  to 
unselfish  and  heroic  endeavors  to  bring  the  world 
into  reconciliation  to  God. 


353 

But  our  talk  must  cease.  A  conspicuous  figure 
has  disappeared  from  our  streets  and  our  circles. 
One  whose  words  were  an  inspiration  to  many 
minds,  and  a  guide  to  many  feet,  and  a  comfort  to 
many  troubled  hearts,  will  utter  words  on  earth 
no  more.  A  loving  and  lovable  man  has  gone 
hence  to  his  reward.  He  will  be  missed,  amongst 
large  numbers  sadly  missed  and  mourned,  in  our 
city,  and  far  and  wide.  When  some  question  of 
vital  moment  has  been  up,  and  each  has  been 
eager  to  know  the  opinion  of  the  ripest  minds  on 
the  matter,  it  has  been  one  of  our  first  thoughts 
to  turn  to  the  Monday  morning  papers  to  see 
what  Professor  Swing  said  on  the  subject.  But 
this  we  shall  do  no  more.  Like  others,  here  and 
elsewhere,  whose  views  helped  to  enlighten  and 
guide  the  popular  mind,  he  has  passed  on  into 
the  immortal  spheres. 

In  a  sermon  of  his  on  St.  John,  Professor  Swing 
makes  these  words  the  closing  paragraph.  Re- 
peating them  after  him  we  say  our  farewell,  and 
bid  him  joy  in  the  light  and  glory  of  the  larger 
world  into  which  he  has  entered:  "In  the  nat- 
ural world  we  perceive  that  the  Creator  has  pre- 
pared a  golden  bed,  into  which,  every  evening,  the 


354 

sun  sinks.  *  *  *  But  God  loves  the  human 
heart  more  than  he  loves  the  stars.  Hence,  the 
Savior  came.  St.  John  points  out  to  us  the 
beautiful  horizon  where  the  soul  goes  down. 
And  when  our  friends  who  have  loved  God  die, 
when  a  humble  child  or  a  Christ-like  statesman, 
when  beautiful  youth  or  venerable  manhood, 
bid  farewell  to  earth,  and  our  tears  fall  upon 
their  dust,  we  behold  best,  in  John's  gospel  and 
dream,  the  golden  couch  that  receives  into  its 
peace  these  stars  sinking  down  from  the  sky  of 
this  life." 


Bisbop  Samuel  fallows. 

1be  Speaks  3f  eeltngls  of  bis  association  witb  tbe  lamented 
preacber. 

The  death  of  Professor  Swing  is  a  personal 
loss  to  thousands  of  people  who  were  not  identi- 
fied with   him   in  matters  of   religious  opinion. 
His  broad  sympathies  united  him  with  all  classes 
of  his  fellow  men.     His  voice  was  always  heard 
on  the  side  of  charity,  philanthropy,  and  reform. 
He  was  always  in  the  front  rank  of  advocates, 
when  the  interests  of  the  people  were  concerned. 
The  warm  words  of  cheer  and  prophetic  utter- 
ance, when  the  People's  Institute  was  begun,  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  them. 
His  sermons  were  constructed  according   to  no 
isometrical  rules.     They  were  beautiful,  poetical, 
moral  essays,  permeated  with  a  spirit  of  religious 
devoutness,  adorned  with  the  graces  of  a  refined 
rhetoric,  and  enriched  with  wonderful  wealth  of 
literary  allusion.     His  satire,  though  keen,  was 
never  malignant.     A  kindly  humor  relieved  it  of 
all  bitterness.    From  conversations  with  Professor 
Swing  I  believe  that  he  was,  in  the  main,  orthodox, 
in  the  comprehensive   sense   of    the  term.      His 

355 


356 

passionate  love  of  the  doctrine  of  the  freedom  of 
man,  and  its  consequent  liberty  of  individual 
thought,  threw,  perhaps,  out  of  its  due  relation  in 
his  teachings,  the  complementary  truth  of  the 
sovereignty  of  God.  But  the  great  cardinal 
tenets  of  the  orthodox  faith  I  feel  sure  he  person- 
ally held.  But,  as  I  have  said,  his  discourses 
were  elevated  essays  rather  than  the  usual  style 
of  sermons.  Doctrinal  discussions  he  could  not 
bear,  and  did  not  present.  Outside  of  the  pulpit, 
he  was  a  tine,  discriminating  critic,  and  an  accom- 
plished litterateur.  He  was  a  man  of  contem- 
plation rather  than  of  action.  But,  by  pen  and 
voice,  he  aided,  with  mighty  words  of  well- 
winnowed  wisdom,  the  men  of  deeds.  He  was  a 
Melancthon  and  not  a  Luther. 

Although  occupying,  by  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, an  independent  position,  he  yet  craved 
the  sympathy  and  fellowship  which  come  with  a 
congenial  ecclesiastical  home.  When  a  course  of 
sermons  was  being  preached  by  leading  divines, 
in  St.  Paul's  Church,  on  the  distinctive  tenets  of 
their  various  denominations,  I  recpiested  Professor 
Swing  to  preach  one  on  the  subject  of  "Independ- 
ency."    In  a  very  kind  manner,  but  with  a  great 


357 

deal  of  earnestness,  he  replied,  "I  do  not  believe 
in  independency  and,  therefore,  can  not  defend  it. 
I  am  an  independent  not  of  my  own  choosing.  I 
would  much  prefer  to  be  in  harmonious  affiliation 
with  others,  in  a  church  organization.'1  Whatever 
doctrinal  differences  there  might  be  between  us, 
there  was  no  abatement  of  my  love  and  respect 
for  Professor  Swing.  The  longer  I  knew  him, 
the  deeper  and  stronger  grew  my  affectionate 
regard  for  him.  A  great  and  good  man  has  gone 
from  us.  Tender  and  gracious  memories  will 
ever  be  cherished  in  my  heart  of  his  genial  pres- 
ence, inspiring  words  and  uplifting  life. 


IRev.  lb,  a.  Delano. 

Simplicity  of  IReligion  as  Cauabt  b£  a  ©reat  Disciple. 

I  hesitate  not  to  speak  in  terms  of  strongest 
eulogy  of  tins  great  disciple.  The  question 
to-day  of  any  man  is  not,  did  he  deny  the  faith, 
but  did  he  live  the  life  of  God  among  men? 
Professor  Swing's  life  interpreted  his  faith. 

As  the  Pike's  Peak  of  our  Rockies  rises  in 
lofty  and  monarch -like  grandeur  above  the  range 
of  which  it  is  a  part,  far  above  all  the  inferior 
and  vaunting  or  vaulting  summits,  so  this  man 
rose  among  us  alone,  isolated,  silent  and  majes- 
tic, above  us  all.  The  ideal  of  a  great  future  for 
mankind  marched  before  his  mind  constantly,  a 
cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  lead- 
ing him,  as  Moses  was  led,  toward  the  land  of 
promise. 

His  was  a  vision  of  a  divine,  though  invincible, 
hand,  regulating  all  the  vast  laws  of  the  universe 
to  splendid  harmony,  and  insuring  a  divine  con- 
tinuity of  history  and  events,  all  tending  to  man's 
final  good.  His  mind  was  full  of  dreams  of  the 
things  to  come,  things  not  yet  seen,  and,  from  out 

358 


359 

his  visions  of  God,  visions  of  man  redeemed  from 
his  littleness,  lie  was  always  making  the  new 
heaven  and  the  new  earth. 

For  the  prosy  and  leaden  interpretations  of  a 
Puritan  theology,  for  a  harsh,  vindictive  and 
exasperating  Calvinism,  for  the  narrowness  and 
bigotry  which  drew  their  line  through  every  fair 
garden  and  predestinated  one  half  to  woe,  this 
man  had  no  taste,  no  fancy,  and  no  sympathy. 
And  yet  those  who  Avill  read  that  memorable  ser- 
mon upon  "  Paradise  Lost"  will  find  the  evidence 
of  his  belief  in  a  law  of  penalty  and  tears  and 
wretchedness  for  those  who  willfully  run  against 
the  edge  of  thorns  binding  every  flowery  path. 
Against  injustice,  hardness,  cruelty,  and  crime 
his  face  was  sternly  set,  yet,  with  a  heart  that 
always  took  the  offender's  place,  considered  his 
temptation,  and  weighed  the  circumstances.  How 
great,  how  magnanimous,  how  tender  he  was! 
Like  the  bird  that  tarries  long  and  sings  sweetly 
on  till  captors  are  very  close  upon  him,  this  man, 
knowing  he  had  wings  to  fly,  could  afford  to  be 
indifferent  to  all  the  little  agitators  who  swing 
their  weapons  and  shout. 


360 

He  saw  God  in  the  Bible  and  had  read  and 
copied  his  law  into  that  stainless,  beautiful  life 
of  his,  which  sunned  and  shamed  us  all.  But  he 
saw  him,  too,  in  suns  and  storms,  in  clouds  and 
sunsets,  in  forest  and  on  lakes,  in  woodland  and 
in  meadows  fair,  in  June  days  of  bloom  and 
beauty,  and  in  autumns  rich  with  haze  and  mist, 
aster  and  golden-rod.  He  saw  him  in  limping 
beggar  and  forlorn  mendicant,  in  the  faces  of 
little  children,  in  homes  made  happy  by  his  love, 
and  in  all  the  order,  beauty,  grace,  and  design  of 
the  universe.  He  loved  art,  not  for  itself,  nor  its 
money  value,  but  for  what  it  expressed  to  him. 
He  loved  poetry,  and  the  songs  of  all  the  great 
poets  were  upon  his  lips.  Do  not  forget  that 
while  we  need  men  to  earnestly  contend  for 
faiths,  we  have  the  greater  need  of  men  whose 
lives  will  interpret  and  unfold  their  faith.  There 
is  war  enough,  clamor  and  debate  enough.  This 
great,  true  man  has  left  to  us  all  an  example 
which  rebukes  the  hot  contention  and  the  acrid 
strifes  of  the  hour. 


1Re\>.  3.  fl>.  Brusbingbam 

pass  an  Eloquent  tribute  to  tbe  Gemots  ot  a  ©reat 

flfcan. 
Strength  of  character  and  a  love  for  the  beau- 
tiful were  blended  in  splendid  proportions  in  the 
life  of  him  for  whom  a  city  mourns  to-day.  Alas! 
There  is  no  strength  nor  beauty  in  this  earthly 
life,  able  to  resist  the  stern  reaper. 

Although  the  great  and  good  man,  who  has 
gone  out  from  among  us,  was  as  gentle  as  a  child, 
he  was  none  the  less  heroic  and  manly.    Although 
a  "  prince  and  a  great  man  in  Israel,' '  he  never 
impressed    one   as   at    all    conscious    of   his   own 
greatness.     The    charm    of    true    greatness    lies 
in  the  spirit  of  humility,  which  says  with  David 
Swing:    "My  Ego  is  no  more  than  your  Ego.17 
I  met  him  frequently  among  the  shelves  of  rare 
and   ancient  volumes,   of  which    he    was  such  a 
competent    and   discriminating   judge.     At  such 
times  he  seemed  pleased  to  converse  concerning 
the  merits  of  favorite  authors  with  a  fellow  stu- 
dent   whose  place  was  but  a  humble  one  com- 
pared with  his  own.     There   be  great  preachers 
and  teachers  who  seem  almost  to  say:     a  I  am 


362 

Sir  Oracle,  and  when  I  ope  my  mouth  let  no  dog 

bark."     How  differently  with  him, 

"  Whose  life  was  gentle, 
And  the  elements  so  mixed  in  him 
That  nature  could  stand  up  and  say  to  all  the  world, 
'  This  was  a  man.'  " 

I  remember  a  conversation  between  Professor 
Swing  and  several  of  us  younger  men  in  the  Meth- 
odist ministry,  in  the  course  of  which  he  magnani- 
mously sought  to  -  explain  away  his  own  promi- 
nence as  compared  with  that  of  other  men  in  the 
same  profession. 

"  For  example,"  he  said,  "  Dr.  Hatfield,  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  is  among  the  great- 
est preachers  of  America." 

"  Why  does  he  not  have  as  large  an  audience 
as  yourself,  Professor  Swing?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  at  work  under  a  different  system," 
was  the  reply.  "  Dr.  Hatfield  has  a  very  large 
following,  but  it  is  distributed  throughout  the 
whole  country,  some  in  Brooklyn,  some  in  Provi- 
dence, others  in  Cincinnati,  and  in  the  differ- 
ent cities  where  he  has  labored.  I  have  been 
in  Chicago  for  over  twenty  years,  and  have 
personal  friends  enough  to  fill  any  ordinary 
place  of  worship." 


363 


He  seemed  anxious  to  impress  us  that  his  great 
influence  was  due  to  fortunate  circumstances,  and 
not  to  any  special  ability  which  inhered  in  him- 
self. 

That  last  sermon  which  lie   preached  was  so 
typical  of  his  public  ministry,  and  so  filled  with 
prophetic  meaning.      Its  deep    significance    and 
rare  beauty  so  impressed  me  at  the  time  that  I 
clipped  it  from  the  printed  page  and  kept  it  as  a 
treasured  legacy,  little  thinking  that  it  was  his 
last.     He  saw  clearly  the  great  conflict  in  our 
present  social  and  industrial  life,  and  besought 
the  clergy  of  the  land  to  harmonize  the  contend- 
ing forces.     To  him,  love  was  the  great  gravity 
principle  in  the  moral  universe.      To  him,  there 
was  more  power  in  a  single  sunbeam  of  love  than 
in  a  thousand  anvils  of  strife  and  hatred.     He 
was  the  gentle  Melancthon,  to  stand  amid  the 
upheavals  of  these  rugged  times  and  always  coun- 
sel moderation.     With  that  mournful  headline  in 
the   public   press,    -Professor  Swing  is  Dead," 
there  came  a  feeling  as  if  the  morning  dawn  had 
died  away;  as  if  the  sweetest  zephyrs  had  ceased 
to  whisper  aught  but  his  sad  requiem. 

His  was  a  unique  personality.     America  has 


364 

produced  none  like  him  in  pulpit  or  rostrum. 
His  public  utterances  were  original,  versatile, 
broad  in  spirit,  and  beautiful  in  diction.  He 
never  repeated  himself,  yet  never  copied  any 
one  else.  All  literature  was  to  him  a  garden  of 
flowers  whence  he  drew  the  honeyed  sweetness  of 
pure,  persuasive  speech.  His  sympathies  were 
so  broad  and  tender  that  even  the  brute  creation 
found  in  him  a  genial  and  kindly  friend. 

Too  broad  and  catholic  for  dogmatism,  he 
could  be  confined  to  no  pent-up  Utica  of  any  one 
theological  system.  He  was  a  poet-preacher,  who 
saw  all  things  good  and  beautiful  in  God  and 
man.     To  him 

"There  was  one  faith,  one  law,  one  element, 
One  far-off  divine  event, 
Towards  which  the  whole  creation  tends." 

But  how  shall  we  speak  of  him  who  was  wont 
to  speak  in  accents  so  tender  and  pathos  so  sub- 
lime at  the  open  grave,  when  others  died  ?  Not 
only  the  family  of  David  Swing,  and  the  Central 
Church,  his  throne  of  power,  are  bereaved  to-day, 
but  all  Chicago  and  the  great  Northwest  suffer 
loss.  Literature  and  art,  poetry,  philosophy,  and 
religion,  may  all    bow  their  heads  in   grief.      A 


365 

community  can  ill  afford  to  lose  its  great  scholars, 
its  noble  philanthropists,  its  patient  reformers,  its 
lofty  moral  teachers. 

The  great,  modest,  kindly  scholar  and  friend 
is  not  dead.  He  is  even  now  crowned  with  the 
immortality  of  the  good  and  true.  He  will  live 
in  grateful  memory.  The  truth  which  he  lived 
and  taught  will  immortalize  his  name. 

From  the  throne  of  Central  Church  there  will 
flow  on  and  on  a  stream  of  living  truth,  "clear  as 
crystal,11  broad  and  deep  and  beautiful. 


IRev.  z.  TO.  Ibanfcforfc. 

The  broad  and  generous  charity,  the  large, 
hopeful,  all-enduring  love,  that  formed  the  theme 
of  David  Swing's  ministry,  became  incarnate  in 
his  life.  Beautiful  and  pathetic,  eloquent  and 
inspiring  as  his  sermons  were,  he  was  the  grand- 
est sermon  of  all.  And  he,  though  dead,  will  be 
eloquent  for  many  a  day.  Thousands  whose 
hands  he  never  grasped,  whose  faces  he  never 
knew,  will  feel  sad  to  the  center  of  their  hearts 
that  death  has  borne  away  so  wise  a  teacher,  so 
gentle  a  friend.  He  has  served  his  day  and  gen- 
eration, and  has  "fallen  on  sleep,"  as  did  that 
other  David  of  the  kingly  race.  His  sun  went 
down  at  eventide;  it  went  not, down  in  darkness 
and  in  storm,  but  melted  in  the  pure  light  of 
heaven.  We  need  not  trouble  about  the  future. 
Prof.  Swing  will  have  no  successor.  Such  men 
can  not  be  succeeded.  Beecher,  and  Spurgeon,  and 
Swing,  have  done  their  work.  The  men  are  few 
and  far  between,  who  could  gracefully  wear  the 
mantle  of  these  ascended  saints.  Other  men  and 
other  methods  will  be  able  to  do  grand  work  in 
the  old  places.     To  follow  in  a  procession  is  one 


367 

thing,    but    to   succeed    a    great   man    is    quite 
another. 

There  have  been  many  poets — only  one 
Milton;  many  preachers — only  one  Swing.  He 
has  gone  from  us,  and  yet  we  can  not  think 
that  that  busy  brain  has  ceased  to  act,  or  that 
that  large  heart  has  ceased  to  love.  Milton  is 
not  dead.  Hampden  is  not  dead.  Washington 
and  Lincoln  are  not  dead,  nor  is  David  Swing-. 
He  has  entered  the  silent  land,  and  we  stand  by 
that  gate  of  death  that  leads  to  life,  silent,  and 
solitary,  and  sad. 


IResolutions  ffmesefc  b£  the  jfourtb 
lPreeb^terian  Cburcb. 

Resolved,  That  the  news  of  the  death  of  the 
Rev.  David  Swing,  formerly  pastor  of  this  church, 
has  filled  us  with  deep  sorrow,  and  we  desire  to 
express  to  the  family  and  the  friends  our  deepest 
sympathy  in  this  severe  bereavement;  and  we 
desire  also  to  record  our  high  appreciation  of 
Professor  Swing's  services,  while  a  pastor  for 
nearly  ten  years,  to  many  in  this  church,  and  our 
constant  love  and  respect  for  him.  With  feelings 
of  thankfulness  we  recognize  his  many  services  to 
the  community  as  a  whole,  and  rejoice  in  the 
record  of  labors  so  manifold  and  so  fruitful.  The 
memory  of  his  life  and  work  will  long  linger 
among  us.  We  recognize  his  great  talents,  and 
his  life  will  be  an  inspiration,  as  an  example  of 
sweet  and  gentle  service,  and  of  untiring  devotion 
to  the  cause  of  righteousness.  May  the  comfort 
and  strength  his  words  have  often  brought  to 
those  in  sorrow  and  distress  now  be  the  portion 
of  those  who  see  a  beloved  form  laid  to  his  rest, 
and  follow  through  the  unseen  portals  the  immor- 
tal spirit  that  has  entered  into  its  eternal  home. 


369 


Resolved,  That  the  session  of  the  Fourth  Pres- 
byterian Church  attend  the  services  in  a  body, 
and  that  a  copy  of  these  resolutions  be  sent  to  the 
family. 


Iprof.  Swings  IReasons  for  Witbfcrawal 

from  tbe  Presbyterian 

Cburcb. 

Xetter  to  tbe  ffourtb  Presbyterian  Cburcb. 

My  Beloved  Congregation:  During  the  past 
three  months  our  relations  have  been  disturbed, 
almost  daily,  by  new  rumors  and  new  facts,  indi- 
cating an  approaching  end  of  our  ties  as  pastor 
and  people.  It  has  hitherto  been  impossible  for 
me  to  address  to  you  any  words  that  might  put 
rumors  to  rest  and  cast  any  light  upon  the  future. 
Neither  you  nor  I  desire  to  break  up  associations  of 
long  standing  —  associations  peculiarly  pleasant, 
and  even  sacred.  It  was  human,  at  least,  in  us  all, 
to  await  the  command  of  the  ecclesiastical  court 
that  presides  over  such  affairs  and  that  is  sup- 
posed to  issue  its  decrees  with  sufficient  prompt- 
ness. At  last,  the  court  to  which  this  society  is 
amenable  has  formally  expressed  its  belief,  or 
rather  its  hope,  that,  after  the  close  of  this  year, 
this  church  will  jilace  itself  in  a  position  less 
irregular — will  find  a  pastor  among  the  Presbyte- 
rian clergy  in  good  standing.    The  session,  neither 

370 


371 

as  a  session  nor  as  individuals,  has  said  any- 
thing to  warrant  the  hope  or  conviction  expressed 
by  the  Presbytery,  but  has  waited  the  simple 
movement  of  the  cold  church -law . 

In  this  crisis,  the  session  has,  in  the  hope  of 
saving  the  relations  mutually  pleasant,  urged  me 
to  return  to  the  Presbyterian  brotherhood ;  but, 
as  the  most  precious  thing  to  one  who  has  dared 
stand  up  to  preach  is  his  capital  of  truth  and  his 
intellectual  liberty,  the  kind  wish  of  the  session 
could  not  for  a  moment  be  entertained.  I  would 
therefore  announce  to -clay  that,  on  or  before  the 
close  of  the  year,  I  shall  cease  preaching  to  the 
Fourth  Presbyterian  Church.  It  is  due  to  the 
Presbytery,  composed  for  the  most  part  of  my 
own  faithful  friends,  that  I  should  hasten  to  con- 
fess their  authority  over  this  society. 

As  my  heart  has  always  been  unequal  to 
speaking  above  a  whisper  any  words  that  affected 
it  deeply,  this  separation  will  come  without  any 
farewell  sermon,  or  any  other  words  that  lie  near 
the  land  of  tears.  As  to  the  old  friendships, 
some  of  them  will  run  on  under  some  other  roof; 
none  of  them  will  be  broken  by  any  act  of  mine. 
In  this  matter  of  friendship,  I  hope  it  will  not  be 


372 

very  undignified  if  I  confess  here  that  my  mind 
recalls  the  song  we  used  to  sing  in  the  days  of 
romance  and  tenderness: 

"  Here's  a  sigh  for  those  who  love  me; 
A  smile  for  those  wbo  hate." 

But,  thinking  of  the  sacred  duties  of  a  minister 
of  Christ,  a  holier  hymn  comes  to  memory: 
"  While  place  we  seek  or  place  we  shun, 
The  soul  finds  happiness  in  none; 
But  with  our  God  to  guide  the  way, 
'Tis  equal  joy  to  go  or  stay." 

Though  I  am  unable  to  rise  to  the  sublime 
height  of  such  words,  their  spirit  will  cheer  me, 
and  will  soften  the  good -by  of 

Your  devoted  friend, 

David  Swing. 

Oct.  31.  1875. 


Gbe  IReasons  for  a  Central  Cburcb. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to-day  to  preach  a  dis- 
course, but  to  state  some  of  the  reasons  which  led 
me  to  begin  a  public  service  in  this  place,  and  to 
commence  it  with  great  pleasure  and  with  great 
hope.  In  the  opening  up  of  all  new  enterprises, 
of  either  a  secular  or  religious  nature,  it  is  custom- 
ary for  some  one  to  utter  inaugural  words,  that 
the  enterprise  may  lie  before  all  in  its  full  scope 
of  business,  or  pleasure,  or  duty.  It  seems  quite 
necessary  that  now,  when  we  are  about  to  enter 
upon  a  series  of  services  in  such  new  surround- 
ings, some  words  should  be  spoken  by  way  of 
introduction,  words  of  explanation,  and  of  con- 
gratulation, too.  Many  of  you  attended  the 
religious  services  held  for  a  time  two  years  ago  in 
this  very  house.  Many  of  you  left  the  room  then 
with  regrets,  and  to-day  you  come  back  with  joy. 
The  reasons  for  such  a  return  need  reviewing. 

That  there  may  be  some  method  to  my  re- 
marks to-day,  I  shall  speak  of  certain  arguments 
in  favor  of  such  a  central  church  as  we  here  found 
to-day,  and  shall  classify  the  arguments  as  mate- 
rial and  spiritual. 


374 

The  material  argument  is  quite  large.  In  an 
age  when  all  other  branches  of  life  study  con- 
venience and  comfort,  religion  must  imitate  the 
other  paths  of  action  and  being,  and  hence  will 
not  dare  be  difficult  and  inconvenient  in  her  style, 
when  the  wicked  world,  in  its  method,  is  studious 
of  public  comfort.  It  is  all  vain  to  say  that  our 
fathers,  in  other  times  and  countries,  walked  five 
miles  to  church,  in  summer's  heat  or  winter's 
storm.  So  they  walked  also  in  journeying  over 
the  world.  All  things  were  equally  full  of  toil 
and  vexation.  The  hotels,  where  they  passed  the 
night,  were  only  barns;  the  beds  on  which  they 
slept  were  hard  as  the  road  on  which  they  had 
walked,  and  the  food  on  the  table  was  as  full  of 
toil  and  vexation  as  were  the  dusty  journey  and 
the  miserable  tavern.  Men  walked  five  miles  to 
church,  because  they  knew  of  no  such  thing  as 
convenience  or  comfort.  Men  exhausted  in  that 
day,  upon  roads  and  hills  and  against  sun  and 
storm,  strength  of  body  and  mind  which  should 
have  been  turned  along  more  useful  paths. 

When  the  gate  was  opened  to  let  in  the  new 
idea  of  convenience  and  comfort,  it  had  to  be 
opened  toward   religion  as  well;  for  when  man 


375 

has  learned  that  he  need  not  be  miserable  as  to 
his  table,  as  to  his  hotel,  as  to  his  bed,  and  as  to 
his  home,  he  will  no  longer  be  miserable  as  to  his 
worship.  When  a  bad  idea  has  become  exposed, 
it  is  routed  everywhere.  When  Champollion  found 
the  clue  to  the  Egyptian  stones,  he  soon  read  every- 
thing in  rapid  succession.  Thus,  when  man  dis- 
covered that  he  need  not  be  miserable  in  some 
one  thing,  he  at  once  sprang  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  need  not  make  any  part  of  life  more 
burdensome  than  fate  itself  should  demand. 

There  is  a  tendency  in  the  world  to  utilize  its 
forces.  The  modern  age  will  surpass  all  former 
times  in  the  quantity  of  labor  it  will,  in  a  given 
time,  bring  to  bear  upon  a  useful  task;  but  it 
will  not  waste  time  and  power.  It  will  not  walk 
all  day  to  church  and  home  again,  if  it  can  go 
to  church  in  a  few  minutes,  and  in  comfort  as  it 
goes.  It  reserves  its  force  for  needful  ends. 
Now,  when  all  the  j:>laces  of  worship  that  stood 
near  the  center  of  this  great  city  were  torn  down 
and  removed,  the  destroyers  of  these  temples  took 
worship  away  from  the  place  where  all  the  car- 
riage-ways meet,  and  again  asked  a  large  popu- 
lation to  do  as  our  Scottish  and  Puritan  fathers 


376 

had  done — face  the  storm  and  exhaust  the  day 
for  the  kirk.  And  this  central  population  has 
declined  the  invitation.  The  meeting-house  must 
come  to  them.  It  must  be  located  where  paths 
converge — where  the  public  carriages  meet.  There 
must  be  some  sanctuary  near  each  multitude. 

A  second  material  argument  may  be  found  in 
the  peculiar  shape  of  our  city.  Its  business  is 
not  spread  out  for  miles  along  some  one  street.  It 
is  massed  into  one  solid  square  mile ;  and  hence,  in 
that  square  mile,  there  are  thousands  of  business 
young  men,  who  are  quite  far  removed  from  the 
family  churches,  and  who  would  be  quite  near  to 
some  central  church  or  churches.  On  account  of 
this  peculiar  massing  of  business,  the  magnificent 
hotels  of  this  city  are  located  in  a  most  unusual 
manner.  Instead  of  reaching  along  for  five  miles 
in  a  straight  line,  they  are  in  a  circle,  about  a 
dozen  strong,  and  all  within  three  or  four  squares 
of  this  theater.  Owing;  to  recent  destruction  of 
dwelling-houses,  and  to  the  marvelous  beauty  and 
comfort  and  quiet  of  these  hotels,  they  are  the 
homes  of  hundreds,  almost  thousands,  of  persons 
who  once  lived  along  the  avenues,  and  who  once 
attended  the  old  churches  of  the  former  city. 


377 

These  statements  will  give  you  an  outline  of 
the  material  argument  that  not  only  justifies  this 
opening  of  a  new  central  church,  but  which 
entreats  us  all  to  enter  upon  this  work  with  zeal 
and  without  delay  or  misgiving.  To  have  a 
church  to  which  so  many  can  come  so  easily,  not 
only  from  the  central  portion  of  the  place,  but 
from  the  three  divisions  of  the  city,  is  an  idea 
that  should  long  ago  have  touched  your  hearts 
and  have  swept  your  judgment.  It  is  impossible 
to  postpone  this  enterprise. 

Let  us  now  come  to  the  moral  aspects  of  the 
case.  Here  our  chief  task  will  be  to  meet  objec- 
tions; for,  in  the  brief  statements  already  made,  I 
have  absolutely  given  positive  reason  enough  for 
the  existence  of  this  new  society. 

First,  this  need  not  be  called  an  "experi- 
ment.11 It  is  a  service  to  which  most  of  us  come 
back  after  a  few  years1  absence.  In  this  very 
room  we  sang  our  hymns  and  sent  up  our  prayers 
and  examined  into  the  high  truths  of  life  for 
almost  two  years,  and  those  two  years  confirmed 
all  I  have  said  about  a  church  accessible  to  the 
public.  So  great  a  success  were  those  two  years, 
that  the  best  men  of  the  Fourth  Church  debated 


378 

witli  many  of  you  as  to  the  propriety  of  holding 
a  central  service  on  the  Sunday  mornings,  debated 
about  some  method  by  which  this  service  here 
could  be  continued.  They  themselves  went  off 
to  their  little  church,  an  inaccessible  church,  with 
misgivings  as  to  duty,  and  for  months  debated 
with  you  and  with  themselves  as  to  the  duty  of 
the  future. 

Thus  we  return  here,  cheered  by  two  years  of 
experience,  an  experience  which  even  a  North 
Side  interest  could  not  readily  conceal  or  erase. 
The  same  gentlemen  who  stand  as  responsible 
friends  of  this  movement  stood  for  it  two  years  ago, 
thus  showing  that  there  is  nothing  of  mere  impulse 
or  novelty  in  their  conduct,  but  that  their  action 
is  based  upon  the  experience  of  two  years,  and 
the  reflection  of  two  years  more.  This  would 
seem  sufficient  answer  to  any  who  may  feel  that 
here  we  are  to  make  an  "experiment."  It  is  not 
so.  Here  we  resume,  to-day,  a  reasonable,  most 
wise  union  of  hearts,  that  was  interrupted  by  an 
accident,  a  beautiful  and  beloved  little  accident 
called  the  Fourth  Church.  And  now  that  Pro- 
fessor Patton  has  removed  that  accident  by  his 
twenty -eight  tears  shed  before  the  synod,  I  am 


379 

free,  not  to  embark  upon  an  untried  sea,  but  to 
return  "  home  a^ain  from  a  foreign  shore.1'  We 
know  all  about  this  channel  and  this  ship.  You 
heard  these  hymns  before  sung  in  such  chorus; 
you  have  seen  these  faces,  all  happy  here,  in  other 
days.  This  is  the  sober  second  thought  of  a 
thousand  persons. 

You  will  please  remember,  too,  that  these 
other  two  years  of  worship  in  this  house  ended 
while  your  minister  was  still  in  full  communion 
with 'the  Presbyterian  Church.  No  trial  for 
heresy  had  ever  shown  any  signs  of  coming. 
Hence,  into  these  meetings  there  entered  no  sen- 
sational element,  and  they  drew  their  life  from 
no  party  heat.  Hence  the  return  of  us  all  to 
this  place  has  not  in  it  the  least  element  of  a 
rebuke  to  Professor  Patton,  nor  of  a  vindication 
of  me.  This  service  began  before  any  war 
between  that  brother  and  me  began,  and  I  believe 
a  central  church  will  go  forward,  near  where  we 
are  now,  after  Professor  Patton  and  I  shall  have 
passed  away  from  life  and  memory.  To  me,  and 
to  all  with  whom  I  have  conversed,  this  move- 
ment seems  to  have  sprung  only  from  a  public 
need,  and  contains  in  it  almost  no  element  of  the 


380 

experimental  and  sensational.  A  city  of  half  a 
million  people  needs  this  central  society. 

Let  me  now  allude  to  another  objection:  "You 
will  have  no  church  social  life,  no  prayer-meet- 
ings, no  church  socials,  no  sewing  societies,  no 
fellowship  with  each  other."  First,  let  us  deny 
this  gentle  charge.  Out  of  this  certainly  must 
come,  and  within  a  year  or  two  let  us  hope,  a 
regular  church,  Independent  or  Congregational, 
with  its  own  hall  for  worship,  and  with  its  rooms 
for  all  kinds  of  church  life.  There  are  no  reasons 
whatever  against  the  formation  and  success  of  a 
church  where  all  these  highways  meet.  It  can 
easily  come,  and  will  soon  come.  We  deny  the 
charge. 

But  let  us  make  a  second  answer  to  the  objec- 
tion. It  is  these  words:  The  value  of  a  congrega- 
tion depends  upon  the  number  and  the  righteous- 
ness of  the  people  that  attend  its  Sunday  morn- 
ing service.  When,  out  of  a  thousand  or  two 
thousand  people  in  a  congregation,  some  sev- 
enty or  a  hundred  gather  at  a  "church  social,1' 
you  must  not  point  me  to  that  scene  and  call  it 
"  church  life.'1  Our  opinion  as  to  the  value  of 
the  piety  and  intelligence  of  the  vast  congrega- 


381 

tion  is  such,  that,  in  estimating  the  moral  worth 
of  a  church,  we  should  rather  look  to  them  of  a 
Sunday  in  their  pews,  than  to  this  little  playing, 
feasting  group,  laughing   the  happy  hours  away. 

The  people  who  assemble  Sunday  morning 
determine  the  value  of  the  sanctuary.  If  they 
are  good,  righteous  citizens,  then  that  two  thou- 
sand are  a  noble  church,  aside  from  "church 
socials."  And  when,  out  of  one  thousand  persons, 
twenty  ladies  meet  to  sew  for  the  orphans,  you 
must  not  point  us  to  that  scene  and  call  it  "  church 
life."  Our  thought  will  still  run  after  the  one 
thousand  persons  not  there,  and  with  the  feeling 
that  in  that  one  thousand  lies  the  work  of  the 
society.  The  service  that  blesses  the  most  is  the 
chief  service. 

And  not  much  should  be  said  about  the  fellow- 
ship and  friendship  that  springs  up  in  the  regular 
house  of  God.  We  know  all  about  this.  We 
know  that  the  congregation  upon  the  avenues 
meet  only  for  the  worship  of  God,  and  do  not 
stand  heart  to  heart  and  hand  in  hand,  away  from 
the  altars.  Each  city  is  full  of  strangers.  We  live 
next  door  to  each  other  and  remain  unknowing 
and  unknown.       Here,  where  you  will  all  have 


382 

your  regular  seats,  and  where  some  of  the  stiffness 
of  the  more  formal  churches  will  be  wanting,  you 
will  soon  reach  an  acquaintance  with  your  neigh- 
bor and  a  final  knowledge  of  all,  not  to  be  found 
in  churches,  which  would  seem  to  promise  more. 
Hence,  while  at  some  not  remote  day  we  may 
have  what  is  called  "  church  life,11  we  must  not 
overrate  the  market  value  of  that  "life  "  and  feel 
that  the  church^  glory  lies  in  that  direction.  The 
grand  churches  of  the  seventeenth  century,  that 
transformed  Christ  into  a  friend  and  made  God 
to  be  Love,  had  no  sewing  societies  and  no  church 
festivals.  They  had  religious  men  in  the  pulpit 
and  in  the  pews.  This  is  the  aim  that  should  lie 
before  us  all,  religion  at  the  desk  and  down  in 
the  cushioned  seats.  All  else  will  be  insignificant, 
if  we  can  reach,  at  last,  intelligence  and  religion. 
Thus  have  I  alluded  to  the  objections  proposed  to 
you  and  me.  I  pass  now  to  advantage  and  inten- 
tions. 

In  our  independent  and  congregational  rela- 
tions, we,  from  preacher  to  people,  expect  to  enjoy 
freedom  of  thought.  I  desire  and  fully  intend  to 
preach  the  religion  of  Christ,  but  in  a  liberty  of 
thought  not  accorded  me  in  my  former  relations. 


383 

Congregationalism  will  afford  you  and  me  all  the 
liberty  we  desire.  With  that  sect  there  is  a  con- 
centration upon  Christ  as  a  sufficient  Savior,  and 
upon  the  idea  of  rewards  and  punishments,  that 
leaves  Christianity  pure  in  its  principles  and 
power,  and  leaves  the  Christian  mind  free.  The 
denomination  that  can  welcome  Storrs  and  Bud- 
dinsrton  and  Alvin  Bartlett  and  Helmer  is  liberal 
enough  for  all  Christian  purposes.  We  do  not 
ask  for  a  church  broad  enough  to  permit  us  to  be 
atheists.  In  Congregationalism,  if  at  last  it  should 
receive  us,  we  shall  find  liberty  enough.  Those 
denominations  in  which  the  church  property  is 
held  by  the  congregation  offer  sufficient  liberty  of 
opinion.  It  is  where  the  meeting-house  and  the 
lot  and  the  organ  belong  to  a  certain  creed  that 
thought  is  enslaved.  There  pulpit  and  pew  con- 
tinue to  repeat  shibboleths  because  property  fol- 
lows certain  formulas  of  doctrine.  Congregational 
property  secures  freedom  of  thought.  While 
property  represents  dead  ideas,  men  will  bow  in 
meekness  to  the  ideas.  As  Independents  or  Con- 
gregationalists,  there  lies  before  us  a  beautiful  pros- 
pect of  intellectual  freedom.  As,  when  Xenoplion 
and  his  companions  after  a  long  wandering  in  the 


384 

mountains  of  Armenia,  lost,  starved,  home-sick, 
and  harassed  by  barbarians,  at  last,  from  a  moun- 
tain, beheld  the  sea,  they  wept  for  joy  and 
shouted,  "  The  sea!  the  sea!  "  for  it  was  to  carry 
them  home;  so  you  and  I,  coming  out  of  the  wil- 
derness where  we  were  lost  and  starved  and  sore 
pressed  by  barbarians,  may  well  look  out  toward 
the  wide  expanse  of  liberty  and  cry  out,  "The 
sea!  the  sea!"  It  will  now  carry  us  all  home. 
The  ocean  of  freedom  is  broad  and  deep  and  beau- 
tiful. It  washes  all  civilized  shores.  All  the 
balmy  and  fragrant  breezes  come  from  its  depths. 
The  light  of  heaven  smiles  on  its  face. 

This  ocean  of  liberty  is  the  true  consolation 
and  inspiration  of  all  who  write  or  speak.  He 
that  speaks  only  by  rote,  or  only  to  a  line  marked 
down  by  another,  can  only  be  a  slave.  His  heart 
can  never  be  the  home  of  any  love  or  earnestness. 
I  do  not  speak  of  this  vista  of  liberty  on  my  own 
account  alone.  Not  only  must  a  speaker  be  free, 
but  the  audience  also  loves  to  feel  that  they  are 
free  minds,  and  are  sitting  in  a  sanctuary  where 
the  flag  of  liberty  waves  over  them.  The  rigid 
details  of  the  more  iron -like  creeds  do  not  oppress 
the  clergy  only,  but  the  church  membership  also. 


385 

For  the  membership  of  the  modern  church  has 
risen  in  intelligence  and  in  the  power  of  its  logical 
faculty,  and,  as  deeply  as  the  clergy,  it  feels 
oppressed  by  the  dogmas  to  which  it  once  sub- 
scribed, and  from  which  it  knows  not  just  how  to 
escape.  Much  of  the  time  of  the  clergy  and  of 
the  higher  order  of  laymen  is  now  spent  in  declar- 
ing how  they  do  not  believe  in  denouncing  it;  thus 
showing  with  what  joy  they  would  hail  spiritual 
freedom,  were  it  placed  within  their  grasp.  In 
that  theological  war  which  was  waged  in  this  city 
two  years  ago,  the  liberal  clergymen  did  not  sur- 
pass the  laity  in  the  quantity  of  indignation 
aroused  by  such  an  inquisition  held  over  words 
and  sentences.  Clergymen,  from  their  theological 
studies,  often  endure,  or  forgive,  or  even  enjoy, 
a  certain  amount  of  theological  skirmishing  and 
conflict.  They  look  sometimes  upon  such  trials 
as  matters  of  course.  But  the  laymen,  trained  to 
the  useful  in  religion,  and  thinking  more  of  Christ 
than  they  do  of  theologians,  often  feel  very  deeply 
the  private  and  public  wrong  done  by  such 
arraignments  for  heresy.  Their  cheeks  burn  with 
shame  that  ministers  should  degrade  their  calling, 
and  that,  in  a  skeptical  age,  Christianity  should  be 
so  exposed  to  new  criticism  and  wrw  contempt. 


386 

Not  alone,  then,  am  I  in  the  power  to  appre- 
ciate a  church  where  the  discord  of  a  "  trial " 
can  not  come,  but  you  all  equally  rejoice  that  here 
freedom  of  opinion  pours  around  you  its  health  - 
giving  and  joy-bringing  atmosphere.  We  all 
desire  to  escape  a  repetition  of  certain  foolish 
processes  brought  by  hasty  men. 

Our  age,  in  its  Christian  department,  is  attempt- 
ing to  find  broader  grounds  in  doctrine,  upon 
which  a  larger  multitude  may  stand  in  a  sweeter 
peace.  That  there  are  a  hundred  sects,  and  that 
these  war  witli  each  other  must  result  from  some 
defect  in  the  mind  or  in  the  sentiments  of  the 
heart.  Such  discord  can  not  but  come  from  either 
ignorance  or  selfishness.  There  must  be  some 
one  religion  in  which  men  might  meet;  for  God 
is  one,  and  heaven  is  one,  and  virtue  is  one,  and 
vice  is  one.  Our  age  is  attempting  to  find  the 
ideas  that  separate  men  and  the  other  ideas  that 
bring  them  together.  It  wishes  to  destroy  the 
former,  and  crown  the  latter.  It  is  seeking  a 
higher  unity  of  thought,  that  there  may  be  a 
deeper  unity  of  sentiment  and  love.  The  Calvin  - 
ist  and  the  Arminian,  the  Baptist  and  the  Epis- 
copalian, and  even  the  Catholics  under  the  lead 


387 

of  Hyacinthe  and  Dollinger,  are  seeking  this 
wider  ground  of  faith  and  love  As  rapidly  as 
this  noble  truth  is  found,  the  ideas  that  have 
separated  hearts  and  have  torn  the  church  to 
pieces  will  be  cast  out  and  despised,  and  toward 
the  better  central  truth  the  public  will  turn  with 
a  new  affection. 

In  assembling  here  to-day,  we  come  only  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Christian  age,  seeking  the  higher 
truth  that  will  bind  more  nearer  together  and 
bring  more  of  peace  and  goodness  to  society.  We 
all  come,  not  to  contradict  and  complain,  but 
to  affirm  all  the  precious  truths  of  the  Gospel, 
and  to  love  them  the  more  because  of  our  perfect 
freedom.  Not  as  an  enemy  do  we  appear  on  the 
horizon,  but  as  the  fast  and  firm  friends  of  all  the 
churches  of  whatever  name.  I  know  the  spirit 
of  this  audience.  Ten  years  have  mingled  us 
much  together,  in  public  and  private,  and  I  feel 
free  to  say  that  I  know  your  hearts;  and,  knowing 
them,  confess  with  joy  that  our  combined  desire 
is  to  hold,  not  an  unhappy,  negative  religion,  but 
one  full  of  positive  devotion  to  Jesus  Christ,  and 
to  all  the  precious  interests  of  humanity. 


388 

We  come,  not  as  iconoclasts,  but  as  lovers  of  man. 
We  do  not  desire  to  be  a  rude  force,  like  lightning 
or  a  storm,  but  to  be  a  gentler  influence,  like  sun- 
shine and  dew,  under  which  the  gentlest  plant 
may  grow  and  reach  its  own  peculiar  blossoming. 
If  we  shall  wish  to  deny  certain  doctrines,  once 
believed,  it  will  be  that  Christ  may  not  be  injured 
by  the  inventions  of  men.  If  we  shall  ignore 
or  slight  other  ideas,  it  will  be  that  they  may 
not  hide  from  us  that  Way,  Truth  and  Life,  in 
whose  presence  is  noonday,  in  whose  absence  is 
night.  Setting  forth  each  day  from  Christ,  as  the 
radiating  point  of  our  system,  we  desire  to  apply 
his  life  to  human  life,  his  pardon  to  human  sin, 
his  hope  to  human  hearts.  Believing  that  Chris- 
tianity underlies,  not  only  a  heaven  beyond  the 
grave,  but  all  good  homes  and  cities  and  empires 
here,  we  all  wish  from  Sunday  to  Sunday  to  seek 
out  these  adaptations  with  our  intellect,  that 
we  may  obey  them  with  our  soul. 

And,  besides  the  words  of  Christianity,  there 
remains  its  spirit,  something  above  delineation 
in  language.  Those  who  assemble  here  desire,  not 
only  to  deal  in  the  morals  and  theology  of 
Christ,  but  to  live  in  the  midst    of  that  divine 


389 

charity  that  enveloped  our  Lord  in  all  hours. 
Toward  even  Pilate  and  all  the  adverse  throng, 
Christ  was  full  of  tenderness.  From  Christ 
comes  the  lesson  that  ill-will,  anger,  self- worship, 
are  only  painful  blemishes  upon  the  soul,  and 
that,  until  man  can  deal  in  perfect  kindness  with 
those  who  differ  with  him  in  thought,  he  is  yet 
far  down  in  the  depths  of  barbarism.  One  of 
our  public  men,  who  had  lived  a  long  and  serene 
public  life,  confessed,  lately,  that  in  early  manhood 
he  had  felt  that  he  could  not  afford  to  get  angry 
at  a  fellow,  for  anger  was  such  a  disgrace  to 
the  soul. 

There  is  a  spirit  of  Jesus  Christ  more  Godlike 
than  even  His  words;  a  spirit  which  all  may  feel, 
but  which  none  can  express, —  just  as  one  may  feel 
in  his  bosom  the  beauty  of  a  day  in  June,  but  can 
never  embody  the  heart-beat  in  language.  But 
such  a  spirit  there  is.  It  will  sit  down  and  talk 
with  the  skeptical  scientist  as  Jesus  talked 
with  the  woman  at  the  well  or  with  the  ruler 
at  nightfall.  The  wider  the  difference  of 
opinion,  the  more  eager  this  spirit  of  Christ  to 
show  us  benevolence.  It  leaves  the  ninety  and 
nine  in  the  fold  of  truth,   and   goes  forth  with 


390 

a  smile  and  a  benediction  toward  the  one  infidel 
or  atheist  or  skeptic  who  may  seem  to  be  wander- 
ing in  the  mazes  of  entangled  thought.  To  this 
doctrine  and  spirit  of  Christ,  we,  the  Central 
Church,  would  subscribe  anew,  this  clay.  We 
would  renew  the  vows  of  former  years.  We  ask 
all  the  great  circle  of  churches  around  to  extend 
us  their  good  will.  We  omit  no  one,  not  even 
the  Catholics.  We  shall  love  to  offer  them 
all  the  help  of  our  right  hand  and  our  heart's 
best  wishes  and  best  love. 


Sbe  E)ut£  of  tbe  pulpit  in  tbe  ibour  of 
Social  Tflnrest. 

H>av>io  Swing's  lLast  Sermon. 

While  men  slept  the  enemy  sowed  tares  among  the  wheat. — 
Matt.  xiii.  25. 

It  would  be  a  happiness  to  all  of  us,  could  we 
meet  to-day  having  in  our  hands  branches  from 
the  woods  or  shells  from  the  shore  where  we  may 
have  recently  attempted  to  find  pleasure  and  rest; 
but  the  events  of  the  last  few  months,  and  the 
gloom  of  the  future,  have  stolen  from  prairie  and 
seacoast  their  long-found  charm. 

The  trees  and  the  waters  have  for  many  weeks 
past  sighed  over  the  infirmities  of  our  country. 

To  find  the  images  of  greatness,  we  have  been 
compelled  to  look  into  the  past.  When  President 
Cleveland  intervened,  and,  perhaps,  saved  this 
city  from  being  plundered  and  burned,  some  men 
feared  to  thank  him  for  such  a  quick  interven- 
tion. July  must  deal  very  gently  with  criminals 
who  are  to  vote  in  November. 

Not  since  1861,  has  the  sky  been  as  dark  as  it 
is  to-day.    We  have  unconsciously  built  up  within 


392 

this  generation  two  black  passions  —  the  one, 
the  feeling  that  money  is  the  only  thing  worth 
living  for,  and  the  other,  that  work  must  hate 
capital.  Thus  the  level  of  all  society  is  lowered — 
the  moneyed  class  by  its  worship  of  gold,  the 
other  class  by  its  life  of  hate.  While  wealth  has 
inflamed  its  possessors  and  worshipers,  there  has 
lived  and  talked  an  army  of  angry  orators,  whose 
purpose  has  been  to  make  the  men  who  work  in 
the  vineyard  hate  the  men  who  pay  them  at 
nightfall.  In  such  circumstances,  the  vineyard 
will  soon  be,  first,  a  battle  field,  and  then,  a  desert. 
It  would  seem  that  all  the  Christian  clergy, 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  and  all  the  ethical  teach- 
ers should,  this  autumn,  enter  into  a  new  friend- 
ship with  these  two  discordant  classes',  and  preach 
to  both  alike  the  gospel  of  a  high  humanity. 
The  churches  and  pulpits  of  all  grades  possess  a 
vast  influence.  They  do  not  hold  any  "key  to 
the  situation,"  or  any  "balance  of  power";  they 
can  not  open  and  close  the  gates  of  the  earthly, 
heaven  and  hell  for  America;  but  they  possess  an 
enormous  moral  force — a  power  that  should  no 
longer  be  exhausted  upon  little  theological  issues 
and  practices.     All  the  intellectual   and  spiritual 


393 

resources  of  the  pulpit  should  be  exhausted  in 
the  effort  to  advance  human  character.  Society 
needs  speedy  and  large  additions  to  both  its 
righteousness  and  its  common  sense. 

What  saved  the  country  from  a  great  calamity 
last  July,  was  the  fact  that  the  school-house,  the 
church,  and  the  press,  of  the  last  fifty  years  had 
quietly  created  an  intelligence  large  enough  to 
stand  between  the  people  and  their  ruin.  When 
the  new  kind  of  autocrat  ordered  all  the  railway 
wheels  between  the  two  oceans  to  stop,  and  had 
sat  down  to  enjoy  the  silence  of  locomotives 
and  iron  rails,  there  were  so  many  noble  and 
educated  men  in  the  railway  service  that  the 
voice  of  the  autocrat  was  the  only  noise  that  died 
out.  It  was  not  President  Cleveland  alone  that 
came  between  us  and  a  great  calamity.  He  was 
aided  by  the  high  common  sense  of  a  large 
majority  of  the  railway  employes.  The  railway 
union  of  working  men  was  not  formed  for  a 
career  of  mingled  cruelty  and  nonsense,  but  that 
men  might  help  each  other  in  honorable  ways 
and  in  hours  of  great  wrong  and  need.  The 
union  was  not  formed  in  order  that  railway  men 
might  become  beggars,  at  a  time  when  their  work 


394 

was  bringing  almost  a  barrel  of  flour  a  day  for 
each  family.  With  wages  at  two  dollars  a  day 
and  wheat  at  half  a  dollar  a  bushel,  the  strike 
and  trouble  of  July  were  not  only  unreasonable 
but  malicious. 

Nearly  all  clergymen  stand  close  to  the  people. 
They  are  reared  in  the  philosophy  that  gives 
bread  to  the  hungry.  The  gospel  of  Christ  is 
one  of  infinite  sympathy.  Men  who  from  choice 
enter  the  ministry  of  the  Judean  religion  are 
never  so  happy  as  when  they  see  the  laborer  sit 
down  under  a  good  roof  to  a  table  spread  with 
abundant  food.  In  the  life  of  the  average  cler- 
gyman, a  large  part  of  his  thought  and  public 
utterance,  and  actual  labor  and  sympathy,  is 
given  to  what  is  called  the  common  people.  The 
upper  classes  need  little.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  millionaire  that  appeals  to  the  heart.  The 
rich  are  so  self-adequate  that  they  may  draw 
admiration  and  esteem,  but  not  sympathy.  The 
heart  of  the  pulpit  is  freely  given  to  the  middle 
and  lower  classes.  In  all  time,  the  common  peo- 
ple have  attracted  to  themselves  the  most  of  both 
philosophy  and  poetry,  but  the  attention  and  the 
affection,  they  won  in  the  former  times  seem  weak, 


395 

compared  with  the  love  that  has  been  flung  to 
them  in  this  passing  century.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  this  sympathetic  philosophy,  wages  have 
been  advanced,  humane  laws  have  been  passed, 
the  facts  of  health  and  disease  have  been  studied, 
and  new  action  has  come  with  new  light;  and 
when  into  such  an  age  of  both  inquiry  and 
action  there  is  projected  such  a  scene  as  that  of 
last  July,  the  spectacle  does  not  belong  to  reason 
or  humanity,  but  only  to  despotic  ignorance  and 
ill  will. 

Labor  may,  and  even  must,  organize,  but  the 
laborers  must  organize  as  just  and  law-abiding 
men,  country-loving  men,  and  not  as  bandits. 
The  depressing  memory  of  last  July  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  labor  was  organized,  or 
wholly  in  the  fact  that  it  "  struck."  The  strike 
was,  indeed,  perfectly  destitute  of  common  sense, 
but  the  chief  disgrace  of  the  hour  lay  in  the  will- 
ingness of  free  men  to  obey  a  central  despot  and 
join  in  such  acts  of  wrong  and  violence  as  would 
have  disgraced  savages.  Benevolence  is  humili- 
ated  that  it  must  feed  and  clothe  men  who  will 
break  the  skull  or  kick  to  insensibility  the  brother 
who  wishes  to  earn  bread  for  his  hungry  family. 


396 

It  was  discovered  last  July  that  some  of  the 
labor  unions  employ  fighting  men  to  go  to  and 
fro  to  hunt  up  and  knock  down  those  who  do 
not  join  in  the  folly — those  who  are  satisfied  with 
their  wages  or  who  must  work.  Not  every  work- 
man is  a  trained  pugilist.  So  men  are  hired  to 
spend  the  day  or  the  week  in  pounding  men  who 
are  noble  and  industrious.  The  cry  "I  am  an 
American  "  does  not  avail  as  much  in  Chicago  as 
the  words  "  I  am  a  Roman  "  availed  Paul  in  Jeru- 
salem. When  Paul  said  he  was  a  Roman,  the 
mob  fell  back;  but  when  Mr.  Cleveland  said, 
"  These  pounded  men  are  Americans,"  it  was 
thought  by  some  that  he  was  not  the  proper  per- 
son to  make  the  remark.  And  yet,  our  pulpits 
have,  for  fifty  years,  been  trying  to  make  Chris- 
tians, and  our  schools  and  printing  presses  have 
been  trying  to  endow  these  Christians  with  sense. 

Quite  a  number  of  clergymen  have  banded 
together  to  preach  the  gospel  of  personal  right- 
eousness; that  Christianity  is  Christ  in  human 
life,  Christ  in  society,  Christ  in  money,  and  Christ 
in  work.  We  preachers  must  all  come  to  that 
definition  of  the  church.  This  height  of  thought 
will  make  all  dizzy  for  a  time ;  but  the  quality  of 


397 

our  old  Christianity  will  not  meet  the  demands  of 
a  republic.  A  despotism  may  be  sustained  by 
Catholics  or  Protestants,  but  a  republic  must  be 
sustained  by  men. 

Labor  guilds  are  as  old  as  work  and  capital; 
but  one  kind  of  labor  guild  is  new,  and  let  us 
all  pray  that  it  shall  not  live  to  become  old. 
In  the  darkness  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the 
young  workingman  looked  happily  forward  to 
the  day  when  he  could  be  admitted  into  the  guild 
of  his  craft.  His  mother  and  sisters  looked  after 
his  habits,  that  his  character  might  be  above 
reproach.  The  approach  to  the  initiation  day 
was  much  like  a  youth's  approach  to  his  first  com- 
munion. New  clothes,  a  feast,  new  conduct,  new 
inspiration,  new  hopes  came  with  the  hour  that 
placed  this  new  name  upon  the  noble  roll.  But 
this  was  in  the  dark  ages.  In  the  close  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  when  the  heavens  and  earth 
are  ablaze  with  the  light  of  Christ,  when  love  for 
man  is  written  everywhere  in  letters  of  gold, 
when  couffresses  of  religion  meet  to  teach  us  that 
all  men  are  brethren,  then  the  men  who  join  a 
guild  shake  a  bludgeon  at  their  brother  and  are 
advised  by  a  reckless  king  to  buy  a  gun.     Souk- 


398 

men  call  this  phenomenon  a  commercial  disturb- 
ance. It  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  In  the  South 
Sea  Islands  it  is  barbarism;  among  the  carnivo- 
rous animals  it  is  called  ferocity;  in  our  civilized 
land  it  is  infamy. 

It  seems  evident  that  Christianity  asks  laborers 
to  be  organized  into  societies.  If  a  church  may 
be  organized  that  Christians  may  help  each  other 
and  confer  with  each  other  about  all  things  that 
pertain  to  the  church,  why  may  not  carpenters 
and  railway  men  form  a  union  that  many  minds 
and  many  hearts  may  find  what  is  best  for  the 
toilers  in  their  field?  The  word  "Church"  means 
a  gathering  of  people,  but  if  the  exigencies  of 
religion  may  demand  an  assembly,  so  may  the 
exigencies  of  a  trade.  But  none  of  these  assem- 
blages can  sustain  any  relations  whatever  to 
violence  or  any  kind  of  interference  with  the 
liberty  or  rights  of  man.  For  a  vast  group  of 
railway  men  to  sign  away  their  personal  liberty 
and  permit  some  one  man  to  order  them  around 
as  though  slaves,  is  a  spectacle  pitiful  to  look 
upon;  but  to  band  together  for  interference  with 
the  rights  of  man  is,  not  a  mental  weakness,  but 
a  crime. 


399 

It  is  a  great  task  for  a  labor  guild  to  study 
aud  fully  learn  what  arc  the  facts  and  the  needs 
of  itself.  Before  men  quit  their  employers,  they 
should  all  know  the  reason  of  the  move.  After 
men  have  been  idle  for  a  winter  and  have  come 
to  regular  work  and  regular  pay,  if  they  hasten 
to  strike,  their  reason  ought  to  be  bo  large  that 
the  whole  world  can  see  it.  But  we  do  things 
differently  in  enlightened  America.  Our  men 
hasten  to  throw  down  tools  ami  their  wages,  ami. 
at  last,  when  starving,  they  ask  some  committee 
to  make  a  microscopical  search  for  the  reason  of 
the  distress.  And,  before  this  reason  is  known, 
eminent  men  express  themselves  as  in  full  sym- 
pathy with  it.  All  the  railway  wheels  in  America 
were  ordered  to  stop  out  of  sympathy  with  a 
reason  which  a  committee  was  looking  for  with  a 
microscope.  The  railways  were  giving  work  to 
four  millions  of  people.  This  work  was  all 
"called  off"  by  a  man  with  some  telegraphic- 
blanks,  and  the  poor  families  supported  by  the 
Northwestern  lost  two  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
the  workmen  of  the  Illinois  Central,  one  hundred 
and  sixty-four  thousand  dollars,  of  the  Milwaukee 
and  St.  Paul  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  thou- 


400 

sand  dollars,  and  thus  on  to  the  millions — all 
which  loss  was  ordered  from  sympathy  with  men 
who  were  getting  six  hundred  dollars  a  year. 

Labor  unions  will  waste  their  work  by  the 
millions  of  dollars'  worth,  and  will  soil  their 
name  and  ruin  the  sympathy  of  literature,  art  and 
religion,  as  long  as  they  trust  their  cause  to  hot- 
headed, ignorant,  illogical  men.  Labor  should 
have  for  its  chieftains  oar  Franklins  or  our  John 
Stuart  Mills.  These  should  be  its  guide.  If  our 
land  possesses  no  such  minds,  then  are  we  on  the 
eve  of  untold  misfortune.  When  labor  shall  have 
Franklins  for  its  walking  delegates,  it  will  enter 
upon  a  new  career.  Capital  will  confer  with  it, 
congresses  of  workingmen  will  meet,  and  men 
will  find  the  wages  of  each  toiler  and  of  each  new 
period,  but  nothing  can  be  done  by  a  foolish  des- 
pot with  a  club.  Yes,  something  can  be  done — 
the  Republic  can  be  hopelessly  ruined  through  a 
ruined  manhood. 

The  wages  and  whole  welfare  of  the  laboring 
man  have  been  much  advanced  in  twenty-five 
years,  but  the  gun  and  club  have  taken  no  part 
in  this  progress.  Conference,  thought,  reason, 
benevolence,  have  accomplished  the  blessed  task, 


401 

and  they  will  do  much  more  when  they  are  invited 
to  help  our  race.  Moral  power  makes  laws.  It 
shames  the  guilty.  It  dissolves  adamant.  It 
founded,  the  Christian  Church.  It  has  civilized 
whole  races;  it  has  emancipated  the  mind;  it  has 
freed  slaves. 

It  may  easily  be  remembered  that  a  London 
man  a  few  years  ago  unveiled  the  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  poor  young  girls.  This  injustice  did  not 
need  to  be  examined  by  a  microscope.  The  heart 
of  London  became  aflame  with  indignation.  The 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  the  Archbishop 
of  Westminster,  Cardinal  Manning,  the  Bishop 
of  London,  Sir  William  Harcourt,  and  Sir  Robert 
Cross,  flung  their  minds  and  hearts  into  the  cause, 
and  the  parliament  passed  a  new  law  for  a  longer 
and  diviner  protection  of  girls. 

To  many  labor  unions  all  talk  of  moral  power 
carries  the  weight  of  only  nonsense.  The  moral 
influence  theory  is  indeed  defective,  but  it  is  the 
only  one  within  human  reach.  If  a  dozen  men 
should  resolve  that  they  have  rights  to  seats  in  a 
street  car,  their  theory  seems  good ;  but,  on  getting 
into  one  of  these  vehicles,  if  they  find  the  scats  all 
taken,   unless   they   can    club  those  persons  out 


402 

of  those  seats,  the  theory  of  those  dozen  unionists 
is  very  defective.  When  a  man  resolves  that  he 
ought  to  sit  down  and  then  stands  up,  his  resolu- 
tion is  defective.  But  what  makes  it  defective  ? 
The  rights  of  the  man  who  is  sitting  down.  So 
when  a  set  of  men  resolve  that  they  will  work 
only  for  four  dollars  a  day,  they  hold  an  imper- 
fect platform,  because  of  the  rights  of  the  men 
who  will  work  for  three  dollars.  Should  a  cler- 
gyman resign  his  pulpit  because  his  people  will 
not  pay  him  six  thousand  dollars  a  year,  his 
theory  is  incomplete  indeed,  unless  he  can  kill 
the  preachers  who  will  come  for  live  thousand 
dollars.  But  he  must  go  to  and  fro  with  his 
imperfect  theory.  It  is  spoiled  by  the  rights  of 
other  preachers.  Tims,  against  all  labor  unions 
not  strictly  moral,  the  laws  of  the  human  race 
rise  up.  The  rights  of  mankind  oppose  them. 
All  society  is  founded  upon  the  rights  of  man — 
not  of  the  man  who  works  for  three  dollars  a  day, 
but  of  the  man  also  who  works  for  one  dollar  or 
for  any  sum  whatever.  Any  force  in  a  labor 
union  means  anarchy.  A  guild,  without  vio- 
lence, may  be  imperfect,  but,  with  violence,  it  is 
infamous. 


403 

Where  would  our  city  and  perhaps  our  nation 
have  been  in  this  September,  had  not  the  laborers 
in  the  town  of  Pullman  and  in  the  whole  land 
been  for  the  most  part  law-abiding?  The  churches 
may  confess  the  rashness  of  the  strike,  but  we 
must  forgive  the  mistakes  of  those  who  respected 
the  rights  of  mankind  and  the  laws  of  the  land. 
Many  toilers  were  so  patient  and  law-abiding  as 
to  give  promise  of  being  worthy  citizens  of  a 
great  country.  What  all  those  workmen  need 
is  a  leadership  worthy  of  their  cause  or  their 
flag. 

The  flag  of  labor  is  a  perfectly  glorious  one — 
too  grand  to  be  carried  by  a  fanatic  or  a  simple- 
ton or  a  criminal.  Capital  is  nothing  until  labor 
takes  hold  of  it.  A  bag  will  hold  money,  but  a 
bag  cannot  transform  that  money  into  an  iron 
road,  a  bridge,  a  train  of  cars,  an  engine.  An 
armful  of  bonds  did  not  fling  the  bridge  over  the 
arm  of  thesea  at  Edinburgh ;  the  bonds  of  Englain  1 
did  not  join  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Red  Sea; 
gold  did  not  erect  St.  Peter's  at  Rome ;  nor  did  it 
lift  up  any  of  the  sublime  or  beautiful  things  in 
any  art.  'Money  came  along  and  attempted  to 
buy  the  canvases  of  Angelo,  but  it  did  not  paint 


404 

them.  The  millions  of  people  who  came  here  last 
summer  did  not  come  to  see  the  millions  of  money, 
but  to  see  what  labor  had  done  with  money,  and 
they  saw  a  great  spectacle.  What  domes !  What 
arches !  What "  Courts  of  Honor ! "  What  canals ! 
What  statues!  What  machines!  What  pictures! 
What  jewels!  What  thought!  What  taste!  What 
love!  And  yet  the  whole  scene  was  the  match- 
less emblazonry  of  labor.  As  God  manifests  him- 
self in  the  external  objects  of  earth  and  in  the 
millions  of  stars,  thus  man  speaks  by  his  works, 
and  in  our  world  labor  sits  enthroned.  Capital 
is  a  storehouse  of  seeds;  labor  is  their  field,  their 
soil,  their  rain,  and  their  summer-time.  Over  a 
potency  so  vast  and  godlike,  only  Wisdom  herself 
should  preside.  If  our  age  has  any  great  men — 
men  whose  hearts  are  warm  and  pure,  and  whose 
minds  are  large  as  the  world, — it  should  ask  them 
to  preside  over  the  tasks  and  wages  of  the  laborer. 
Anarchy,  crime,  and  folly  should  be  asked  to 
stand  back.  Those  three  demons  may  be  called 
to  the  front  when  our  laborers  are  seeking  for 
poverty  and  disgrace. 

You  have  all  heard  of  the  hostility  of  capital 
to  labor.      But  there  is  no  special   truth   in  the 


405 

phrase.  Labor  is  just  as  hostile  to  labor.  The 
whole  truth  is  this:  Man  is  not  anxious  to  spend 
his  money.  There  is  a  saying  that  "  the  fool  and 
his  money  are  soon  parted,"  but  we  have  not 
reached  the  maxim  that  labor  loves  to  make  pres- 
ents to  labor.  Did  you  ever  know  a  blacksmith 
who  was  happy  to  pay  large  bills  to  the  plumber*? 
Are  the  carpenters  anxious  to  have  their  tailors 
advance  the  price  of  a  suit  of  clothes?  Are  the 
"  walking  delegates  "  for  the  plasterers  anxious 
to  pay  the  farmer  a  dollar  for  wheat?  If  reports 
be  true,  there  are  laboring  men  in  the  West  who 
are  so  hostile  to  the  labor  of  their  brothers  that 
they  are  going  to  buy  most  all  needful  things  in 
the  shops  of  England. 

Thus  labor  is  as  great  an  enemy  of  labor  as  it 
is  of  capital.  The  hostility  between  labor  and 
money  is  a  mischievous  fiction,  gotten  up  by 
dreamers  and  professional  grumblers,  who  wish  to 
ride  into  office  or  fame  by  parading  a  love  for  the 
multitude.  This  false  love  ought  soon  to  end  its 
destructive  career.  Last  June  and  July  it  cost 
the  workingmen  many  millions  of  dollars.  Had 
some  walking  delegates  of  Christianity  told  these 
men  that  labor  and  capital   are  eternal  friends — 


406 

that  labor  is  the  language  of  money,  the  body  it 
assumes,  the  life  it  lives, — our  summer  would  have 
been  full  of  industry  and  honor.  How  could 
Krupp  hate  the  men  who  are  doing  his  will 
in  massive  iron  ?  How  could  Field  hate  the  men 
who  were  laying  his  cable  in  the  ocean?  The 
church  must  help  stamp  all  our  industrial  false- 
hoods into  the  dust,  and  must  wave  over  all  men 
the  flag  of  brotherhood. 

So  rapidly  has  friendship  grown  between 
capital  and  labor,  that  a  law  is  now  before  the 
British  parliament  looking  to  a  compensation  to 
each  laborer  or  his  family  for  injuries  the  work- 
ingman  may  have  received  in  the  execution  of  his 
task.  When  passed,  this  law  will  each  year  give 
ten  millions  of  dollars  to  the  working  class  of  the 
three  islands.  This  law  is  not  coming  from  the 
"club"  or  "gun,11  but  from  the  Christianity  of 
England. 

This  new  humane  philosophy  has  counted  all 
the  toilers  who  have  been  injured  in  their  toil. 
It  saw  fifty-seven  men  killed  while  building  the 
Forth  bridge,  and  130  die  among  the  wheels  and 
machines  used  in  digging  the  Manchester  canal. 
This  new  kindness  has  studied  longer  and  found 


407 

that  of  each  ten  thousand  men  employed  on  the 
railways,  fourteen  are  killed  in  a  year  and  eighty 
badly  crippled.  In  the  long  past  there  was  no  love 
that  counted  these  dead  or  injured  men.  A  dead 
laborer  was  as  a  dead  horse  or  a  dead  dog.  The 
riots  and  destruction  and  barbarity  of  last 
July  set  back  all  this  new  friendship,  and  made 
brotherly  love  despair  of  the  present  and  future. 
The  evil  one  hath  done  this.  Endless  abuse, 
endless  complaint,  endless  violence,  openly  taught 
anarchy,  have  succeeded  in  making  work  the 
enemy  of  money.  You  can  recall  the  Bible 
story  of  the  person  who  came  at  night  and  sowed 
tares  among  the  springing  wheat. 

The  fact  that  the  United  States  army  had  to 
hasten  hither  to  save  life  and  property  can  not 
all  be  charged  upon  the  immigrants  in  our  land. 
We  have  of  late  years  been  producing  a  group  <>f 
Americans  who  care  nothing  for  right  or  wrong, 
and  who  have  become  the  masters  of  all  the 
forms  of  abuse  and  discontent.  It  is  evident  that 
the  influx  of  anarchists  ought  to  cease,  but  we 
must  not  forget  the  crop  our  nation  is  growing 
out  of  its  own  soil.  All  the  cities  seem  uniting 
to  make  law  ridiculous.     The  alien  who  will  sell 


408 

his  vote  for  a  few  shillings  is  not  so  low  as  the 
American  who  will  prefer  these  votes  to  princi- 
ples. The  immigrant  may  act  through  the  absence 
of  patriotism  for  his  new  land,  but  the  American 
acts  through  total  depravity. 

The  foreigners  are  generally  manipulated  by 
political  confidence  men,  who  are  home-made. 

The  general  theme  of  this  morning  is  too  large 
for  the  narrow  limits  of  an  essay,  but  it  is  possi- 
ble for  us  to  feel  that  our  great  Christian  organ- 
ism ought  to  be  applied,  from  these  dark  days 
onward,  to  the  making  of  the  Christlike  char- 
acter. The  church,  Catholic  and  Protestant,  has 
lived  for  all  other  causes;  let  it,  at  last,  live  for 
a  high  intelligence  and  for  individual  righteous- 
ness. Literature  and  science  and  the  public 
press  will  help  the  church.  All  these  wide-open 
and  anxious  eyes  must  perceive  clearly  that  our 
national  and  personal  happiness  must  come  from 
the  study  and  obedience  of  that  kind  of  ethics 
which  became  so  brilliant  in  Palestine.  Our 
Jewish  friends  need  not  call  it  Christian,  and 
our  rationalized  minds  need  not  call  it  divine. 
What  is  desirable  and  essential  is,  that  its  spirit 
shall  sweep  over  us.     Called  by  any  name,  it  is 


409 

a  perfect  salvation  for  our  country  and  for  each 
soul.  The  time  and  money  the  church  has  given 
to  a  metaphysical  inquiry  and  teaching  have 
been  a  total  loss.  In  the  great  college  courts, 
there  are  studies  in  classic  language,  and  in  high 
mathematics,  that  strengthen  the  intellect;  but  no 
such  virtue  has  ever  been  found  to  flow  from 
the  theological  studies  of  the  church.  For  hun- 
dreds of  years  the  mind  has  found  in  these 
enigmas  its  slow  doctrine.  There,  thousands, 
even  millions,  of  thinkers  have  found  their  crave. 
There,  the  colossal  mind  of  even  a  Pascal  grew 
confused  and  weak.  There,  great  men  have  lost 
their  blessed  earth  while  they  were  fighting 
over  the  incomprehensible.  God  did  not  give 
man  this  globe  that  it  might  be  made  a  desert 
or  a  battlefield,  but  that  it  might  be  made  the 
great  home  of  great  men. 

As  often  as  creeds  and  dogmas  have  detached 
the  mind  from  humanity,  literature  and  art  and 
science  have  rushed  in  to  save  the  precious  tilings 
of  society.  But  these  agencies  have  done  this 
only  by  carrying,  in  prose  and  verse  and  science, 
the  laws  of  love,  duty  and  justice,  by  delineating 
man  as  a  brother  of  all  men  and  as  a  subject  in 


410 

the  mighty  kingdom  of  law  and  love.  In  an  age 
and  in  a  republic  marked  by  an  amazing  effort  to 
turn  all  things,  all  days,  all  life,  into  gold,  our 
pulpits  must  make  a  new  effort  to  reveal  and  create 
man  the  spiritual  being,  man  temperate,  man  stu- 
dious, man  a  lover  of  justice,  man  the  brother,  man 
Christlike.  The  same  science  that  is  seeking  and 
finding  the  sources  of  wealth,  and  that  is  filling 
the  young  mind  with  longings  to  become  rich,  can 
find  and  teach  all  the  worth  of  man  as  a  spiritual 
being,  and  can  compel  a  great  nation  and  a  great 
manhood  to  spring  up  from  the  philosophy  of 
the  soul. 

To  reach  a  result  so  new  and  so  great,  the 
pulpit  must  select  new  themes.  It  must  cull 
them  from  the  field  where  the  mob  raves,  from 
the  shops  where  men  labor,  from  the  poverty  in 
which  many  die,  from  the  office  where  wealth 
counts  its  millions.  Even  so  beclouded  a  pagan 
as  Virgil  sang  that  when  the  mob  is  throwing 
stones  and  firebrands,  and  is  receiving  weapons 
from  its  fury,  if  wisdom  will  only  become  visible 
and  speak  to  it,  it  will  listen,  and  at  last  obey. 
We  have  the  mob;  it  is  high  time  for  a  divine 
wisdom  to  speak  to  it. 


411 

Our  planet  not  only  rolls  on  in  the  embrace 
of  the  laws  of  gravitation,  of  light  and  heat, 
vegetable  and  animal  life,  and  the  strange  encom- 
passment  of  the  electric  ether,  but  it  llies  onward 
amid  spiritual  laws  far  more  wonderful — laws 
of  labor  and  rest,  laws  of  mental  and  moral  pro- 
gress, laws  of  perfect  justice  and  of  universal 
love.  Oh,  that  God,  by  his  almighty  power, 
may  hold  back  our  Nation  from  destruction  for 
a  few  more  perilous  years,  that  it  may  learn 
where  lie  the  paths,  in  which,  as  brothers  just 
and  loving,  all  may  walk  to  the  most  of  excel- 
lence and  the  most  of  happiness. 


Gbe  IRefcemption  of  a  Cit^. 

2>avto  Swing's  IflnfintsbeD  Sermon. 

Who  redeemeth  thy  life  from  destruction. — Psalm  ciii.  4. 

The  theological  form  of  redemption  is  no 
longer  clearly  understood.  The  term  passed 
through  many  centuries  without  having  its  im- 
port much  questioned.  All  the  Christian  myriads 
assumed  that  there  was  a  heavy  account  standing 
against  each  living  soul  and  that  Christ  had  come 
to  redeem  those  who  were  lying  in  jail  under  this 
debt.  He  had  paid  off  the  old  claim  and  stood 
forth  in  the  light  of  a  kind  redeemer.  At  last 
came  the  Calvinists  to  teach  that  this  floating 
debt  was  paid  for  only  a  part  of  the  debtors. 
The  Arminians  taught  that  arrangements  had 
been  made  by  which  all  debtors  could  arrange 
to  have  their  old  account  erased.  In  the  long 
meanwhile,  the  import  of  the  word  "redemption1' 
was  a  commercial  meaning. 

Mr.  Gladstone  has  recently  written  an  essay 
against  Anna  Besant's  memories  of  her  early  the- 
ology. It  would  seem  that  Anna  Besant  does 
injustice  to  the  intellect  and  faith  of  the  modern 


•413 

churches  at  large;  but  there  arc  many  congrega 

tions  in  England  and  our  land  to  whose  member- 
ship her  delineation  of  a  doctrine  would  sound 
like  the  purest  truth,  while  that  of  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  conic  under  the  old  terrible  phrase  of 
"philosophy  falsely  so  called.11  The  ideas  of  the 
statesman  are  almost  those  of  the  new  school  of 
Presbyterians. 

The  word  redemption  sprang  up  when  men 
first  began  to  tight  and  take  prisoners  on  land 
and  sea.  To  Jdll  these  prisoners  was  not  always 
the  best  manner  in  which  to  dispose  of  them. 
Perhaps  rich  families  would  pay  much  money. or 
many  camels  or  kids  for  their  release.  From 
such  a  source  the  word  soon  passed  to  a  spiritual 
meaning,  and  we  hear  Job  saying:  "I  know  that 
my  Redeemer  liveth ;  he  will  at  last  appear  and 
buy  me  back  from  my  cruel  captors.11  We  hear 
the  psalm  singing  of  the  kind  God  who  buys  us 
away  from  destruction.  Thus,  step  by  step,  came 
the  thought  and  sentiment  that  named  Christ  the 
Redeemer. 

As  the  word  is  older  than  the  formal  theology 
of  the  church,  it  may  be  thought  of  as  one  of 
the  great  general  terms  of    all  languages.     We 


414 

are  all  captives.  In  the  great  war  of  man's  life, 
some  armed  ignorance  or  vice  has  taken  ns  pris- 
oners, and  we  are  all  waiting  for  some  redeemer 
to  come.  It  is  not  only  on  account  of  heaven 
the  captives  are  waiting.  Earth  enters  into  all 
their  longings.  They  wish  to  be  brought  back 
and  set  free  in  these  continents  and  years.  Hav- 
ing no  money  of  their  own,  they  hope  for  help 
from  their  friends,  and  they  recall  the  dream  of 
Isaiah,  when  men  would  be  redeemed  without 
money  or  without  price.  The  wealth  of  the 
world  would  be  offered  to  each  poor  heart.  In 
the  galleries  of  Europe  there  is  often  seen  a 
beautiful  picture  of  a  Magdalen,  reading.  She 
had  been  redeemed.  When  some  unseen  hand 
drew  back  for  St.  John  the  curtain  of  heaven,  he 
saw  in  one  happy  held  one  hundred  and  forty- 
four  thousand  of  the  redeemed.  They  had  once 
been  prisoners,  but  the  quality  of  our  world  had 
made  them,  like  the  captives  of  Zechariah,  "pris- 
oners of  hope."  Earth  has  no  hopeless  islands 
or  continents.  It  may  be  all  swept  over  by  the 
winds  and  melody  of  redemption.  Christ  did 
not  create  all  this  work  of  rescue,  but,  bringing  a 
large  part  of  it,  he  expressed  the  whole  fact.    As 


415 

one  summer-time  does  not  contain  all  the  magical 
working  of  the  sun,  but  only  illustrates  millions 
of  past  and  coming  years,  so  Christ  did  not  bring 
all  of  redemption  to  our  world,  but  rather  did 
he  teach  us  that  all  the  human  host  has  marched 
or  may  march  through  an  atmosphere  beautifully 
tinted  with  redeeming  grace.  It  is  not  all  the 
grace  of  God;  much  of  it  is  the  grace  of  man. 
It  comes  from  God,  indeed,  but  it  comes  through 
humanity. 

Our  age  is  moved  deeply  by  the  study  of 
ideals  in  art.  Each  generation  is  amazed  at  its 
own  progress.  In  the  great  Field  Columbian 
Museum,  one  can  see  the  history  of  many  an  idea; 
the  boat-idea,  beginning  at  three  logs  bound 
together  with  a  piece  of  bark,  and  passing  on 
toward  the  ocean  palace;  the  transportation-idea, 
beginning  with  a  strap  on  a  man's  forehead, 
passing  on,  through  the  panniers  on  a  goat  or  a 
donkey,  and  reaching  to  the  modern  express  train  ; 
the  sculpture-idea,  moving  from  some  stone  or 
earthen  or  wooden  outlines  onward  toward  the 
angelic  forms  that  seem  about  to  live  and  speak. 
There  you  will  see  the  wooden  eagle  that  marked 
the  grave  of  some  Indian.     And  what  a  creature 


•416 

it  is!  Nothing  blit  the  infinite  kindness  of  civil- 
ization could  persuade  us  to  call  it  a  bird  of  any 
known  species.  And  yet  perhaps  the  Indian, 
when  dying,  was  happy  that  such  a  wooden  bird 
was  to  stand  on  his  grave  and  keep  his  memory 
green. 

Into  our  age,  so  full  of  new  and  grand  concep- 
tions in  art,  there  must  come  the  marching  ideals 
of  human  life.  Man  is  moving  through  a  redemp- 
tive world.  All  lips  should  sing  each  day  the 
song  of  the  old  harpist,  uWho  redeemeth  thy 
life  from  destruction.11  What  our  as;e  needs 
is  a  rapid  advance  of  the  ideals  of  life.  A  Catho- 
lic priest  who  has  spent  thirty  years  in  the  tem- 
perance cause  said,  last  week,  that  the  saloon  is 
the  greatest  enemy  that  Rome  has  left  in  the 
world;  that  the  criticisms  we  Protestants  make  of 
Rome's  dogmas  were  harmless,  compared  with  the 
ruin  of  mind  and  soul  wrought  by  the  saloon  and 
its  defenders.  No  one  will  deny  the  truth  of 
the  priest's  complaint,  and  all  are  glad  to  mark 
the  new  effort  of  the  Romanists  to  set  up  new 
ideas.  Protestants  should  not,  can  not,  hate  a 
Catholic;  but  all  good  citizens  must  cherish  little 
regard  for  any  one  who  has  not  yet  gotton  beyond 
the  saloon  idea. 


417 

Such  arc  not  churchmen — they  are  saloonmen. 
They  have  not  been  touched  by  the  new  redemp- 
tion of  the  new  age.  When  they  die,  they  ought 
to  sleep  under  that  wooden  eagle  of  the  museum, 
because  the  bird  and  the  man  stand  equally  Ear 
away  from  any  known  shape  of  terrestrial  beauty. 
May  great  success  come  to  the  Civic  Federation, 
which  is  attempting  to  redeem  this  city  from  the 
grasp  of  those  men,  in  office  and  out  of  office,  who, 
being  Romanists,  disgrace  Rome's  altar,  or,  being 
Protestants,  disgrace  all  humanity!  Nothing  is 
so  beautiful  as  the  face  of  the  Redeemer;  but  each 
man  and  woman  who  leads  toward  a  higher  life 
is  a  redeemer  of  our  race.  Christ  was  a  fountain 
of  redemption,  but  humanity  at  large  composes 
the  great  flood.  Each  noble  soul,  each  good  1  >< ><  .k. 
each  great  picture,  each  piece  of  high  music,  is  a 
redeemer,  and  when  the  soul,  young,  or  mature, 
has  once  started  toward  its  salvation,  then,  each 
field,  each  forest,  becomes  a  page  in  its  divine 
book,  and  each  bird-song,  a  revival  hymn,  sweet  as 
those  of  the  old  Methodists. 

For  many  centuries,  the  Christian  estimate 
of  man's  life  was  inadequate.  Solemnity  was 
never  a  full  justification  of    the  human   family. 


41 S 

Solemnity  is  neither  a  virtue  nor  a  vice.  One 
can  not  live  for  it.  Weeping  can  not  possibly  be 
a  human  goal.  God  would  not  create  a  world 
that  it  might  weep.  Nor  is  self-denial  an  explan- 
ation of  rational  life  on  this  globe.  We  admire 
the  self-denial  of  a  poor  mother  who  toils  hard, 
and  eats  and  sleeps  little,  that  her  children  may 
the  better  live,  but  we  all  regret  that  that  poor 
mother  could  not  have  enjoyed  ten  times  as 
much  sunshine  as  fell  upon  her  heart.  Christ 
was  the  man  of  sorrows,  but  not  because  self- 
denial  is  the  reason  of  being.  Times  may  be- 
come so  dark  and  oppressive  that  the  salvation  of 
the  many  can  come  only  through  the  sufferings  of 
the  few,  but  the  universe  was  not  made  for  the 
general  display  of  dark  and  oppressive  times. 
Self-denial  is  not,  therefore,  the  ultimate  ideal  of 
man.  Self-denial  assumes  the  misfortunes  of 
other  people,  but  the  "other  people"  must  finally 
rise  above  those  misfortunes,  and  thus  end  the 
empire  of  self-abnegation.  Self-denial  must  fol- 
low us  through  infancy;  but  what  is  to  be  with  us 
and  stay  with  us  after  avc  have  become  men  \ 
Nothing,  therefore,  will  explain  the  human 
race,  except  the  many-sided  greatness  and  happi- 


419 

ness  of  each  individual.  The  former  Christian 
times  all  came  short  of  finding  adequate  aims  of 
society.  The  three  years  of  Jesus  were  not  a 
perfect  picture  of  human  life.  They  were  a  sub- 
lime picture  of  man,  as  caught  in  a  storm,  and 
as  saving  ship  and  crew,  but  in  the  uncounted 
years  of  that  Son  of  God  there  is  uo  crown 
of  thorns.  He  wept  for  one  night  in  a  gloonrj 
garden,  but  in  the  matchless  sweep  of  his  exist- 
ence there  are  no  tears.  Thus  w<-  perceive  that 
the  existence  of  man  is  to  be  explained  only  by 
the  greatness  and  completeness  of  his  ideals.  It 
is  not  enough  for  a  man  that  he  is  a  good  judge 
of  pictures,  for  it  may  be  that  he  drinks  twenty 
glasses  of  beer  in  a  day,  and  pays  the  family  ser- 
vant girl  only  two  dollars  a  week.  How  strange 
it  is  that  a  Catholic  will  belong  to  both  a 
church  and  a  saloon  !  The  human  ideas  must 
grow  more  numerous  and  more  adequate,  that 
they  may  make  a  complete  manhood  and  woman- 
hood. 

The  redeeming  process  must  go  forward  until 
we  are  wholly  free.  It  was  once  enough  for  a 
man  if  he  were  a  Presbyterian  or  a  Catholic: 
but  such    a  goal  is  no  longer    adequate.     This 


420 

kind  of  .person  must  now  add  to  his  name  a  new 
group  of  virtues.  He  must  be  intelligent,  tem- 
perate, just,  kind,  lofty.  The  human  beauties 
have  grown  more  rapidly  than  the  beauties  of  art 
have  advanced. 

It  is  seen  how  music  has  run  forward  from  the 
old  monotony  of  the  Hebrews  and  Greeks  to  the 
wonderful  compositions  of  the  Italians  and  Ger- 
mans. The  modern  soul  would  almost  die  under 
the  old  music.  It  would  not  be  high  enough, 
nor  low  enough,  nor  wide  enough,  nor  sweet 
enough.  But  morals  have  advanced  by  the  same 
path,  and  yet  this  city,  encompassed  and  inspired 
by  ideals  many  and  great,  permits  itself  to  be 
governed  by  the  abandoned  classes.  It  is  as 
though  the  orator,  Daniel  Webster,  had  asked 
some  African  ape  to  speak  in  his  stead;  it  is  as 
though  Jenny  Lind  had  asked  some  steam  fog- 
horn to  sing  her  part.  When,  from  the  splendor 
of  this  city,  from  its  high  people,  from  its  intelli- 
gent and  sunny  homes,  from  its  churches,  from  its 
immortal  summer  of  1893,  one  passes  to  the  cen- 
tralized government,  the  heart  cries  out:  Alas, 
Jenny  Lind,  why  did  you  suppose  that  a  fog-horn 
could  take  your  place  and  sing  for  us  that  mighty 


421 

song,  "I  Know  thai  My  Redeemer  Liveth."  In 
the  midst  of  the  discord  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
thai  a  redeemer  lives. 

It  was  hoped  by  many,  before  Mr.  Stead  pub- 
lished his  boot  on  Chicago,  thai  it  would  contain 
some  full  and  fair  estimate  of  the  virtues  and 
vices  of  the  new  and  large  city.  But  the  volume 
was  not  what  was  needed.  It  was  full  of  all 
kinds  of  trifling  and  injustice.  It  made  sport  of 
men  who  founded  institutes  and  universities,  and 
made  no  important  distinction  between  a  business 
man  and  a  swindler.  The  book  was  written 
most  recklessly.  But  it  revealed  one  fact,  the 
great  need  of  a  treatise  whose  theme  shall  be  tin- 
one  city.  It  ought  to  be  written  by  a  calm  and 
just  mind — some  Dryasdust,  perhaps,  whom  no 
fact  could  escape.  It  would  need  no  literary 
decoration.  It>  facts  would  be  all  the  paint  it 
could  bear.  We  need  a  perfect  picture  of  our 
mental  and  spiritual  shape.  In  this  long  tempest, 
some  bearing  must  be  taken  of  the  valuable  ship. 
If  the  people  could  know  all  the  facts  in  the  case, 
they  would  fly  to  the  ballot  box  as  to  their  only 
refuge,  and  would  make  every  election  day  a 
great  day  of  redemption.      Why  should   such   a 


422 

city,  so  situated,  so  vast,  so  intelligent,  go  to  the 
simple  for  its  philosophy  and  tax  gamblers  for 
the  spread  of  such  midnight  darkness?  Money 
would  come  from  noble  people,  could  it  only 
come  for  good  purposes. 

The  redemption  of  such  a  city  is  a  great  work. 
They  who  gird  themselves  for  such  a  task,  and 
who  toil  to  the  end,  will  reach  more  laurels  than 
can  be  worn  by  one  forehead.  The  new  era  calls 
them  and  will  inspire  them  and  the  future  will 
reward  them. 

The  ills  of  a  city  will  not  all  vanish  when  it 
shall  become  well  governed.  A  most  perfect  and 
most  honest  government  will  not  bring  a  perfect 
salvation;  for  intemperance  and  idleness  and 
extravagance  will  remain,  and  those  two  great 
forces  called  labor  and  capital  will  still  be  here. 
They  are  both  one,  only  capital  is  larger  than 
labor.  When  a  man's  labor  is  worth  six  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  he  is  worth  several  thousand  dol- 
lars. It  would  take  quite  a  sum  invested  at  six 
per  cent,  to  equal  such  a  man.  Capital  is  con- 
densed labor — labor  crowded  into  a  package  of 
bills  or  gold,  like  the  air  crowded  into  a  Westing- 
house  cylinder.     The  living  laborer  sets  free  the 


423 


condensed  labor  and  makes  it  assume  the  form  of 
some  external  object.  Both  are  one,  only  capital 
is  the  larger.  They  will  draw  nearer  to  each 
other  as  the  world  advances  in  intellect  and  good- 


ness. 


In  this  widening  of  human  ideals  a  large  part 
of    the    community    has    outgrown    the    law   of 
demand  and  supply.     The  Rossis  and   Ricardos, 
who  stated  that  law  so  clearly  a  hundred  years 
ago,   were    not   thinking  of  the   welfare    of    the 
workingman,  but  only  the  causes  of  a  price.    The 
study  and  the  law  were  cold  blooded.     A  work- 
ingman received  fifty  cents  a  day  or  less,  because 
the  need  was  not  great  and  the  workinginen  were 
numerous.     In  our  age  there  is  a  vast  multitude 
of    employers    who    pay    something    to    a    man 
because    lie    is   a   human    being.      An    element 
undreamed  of  by  the  last  century  enters  into  the 
wages  of  to-day.     Mr.  Childs  did  not  regard  the 
law   of    demand    and    supply.     His    heart    made 
some    new    laws,  and    In-    paid    as    much    to   the 
human  being  as  he  did  to  the  trade  of  the  man. 
He   could  have   secured   labor   at  a  low  mai:k«t 
price,  but  he   hated   the  calculations  of  the  last 
century,   and   paid    men  what   pleased   his  own 


424 

benevolence.  Few  of  you  make  any  effort  to 
secure  help  at  the  lowest  rates.  The  human 
being — man,  woman  or  boy — steps  in  and  draws 
a  few  additional  pennies.  The  sweat  shops  are 
places  where  love  has  not  yet  come.  There,  the 
law  of  demand  and  supply  works  in  all  its  old- 
time  barbarity. 

In  our  largest  mercantile  house  there  are  clerks 
who  receive  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  In 
one  of  our  music  houses  we  can  find  the  same 
kind  of  fact.  Great  salaries  are  following  labor's 
nag,  but  it  is  vain  to  say  that  those  salaries  come 
from  demand  and  supply,  for  we  know  that  these 
fortunate  clerks  could  be  procured  at  a  much 
lower  rate.  Wages  are  being  modified  by  the 
sentiment  of  human  brotherhood.  It  must  not  be 
raised  as  an  objection  that  this  sentiment  is  not 
universal.  Perhaps  the  man  who  raises  the  objec- 
tion has  not  yet  become  perfectly  redeemed  him- 
self. We  should  all  be  conscious  of  the  slowness 
with  which  perfection  spreads  over  the  mortal 
heart. 

When  the  town  of  Pullman  was  projected,  two 
or  more  members  of  its  small  but  rich  syndicate 
opposed  the  construction  of  such  a  beautiful  vil- 


425 

Lage.     They  said,  "beauty  of  streets,  of  bouses, 
library,  theatre,  market-place,  church,  lakes,  and 

fountains  will  yield  no  interest  od  the  investment. 
Plain,  cheap  huts  will  do  as  well."  But  the  higher 
ideal  carried,  and  three  million  dollars  were  thus 
lung  away.  Some  of  the  founders  remembered 
the  sweat  shops  of  the  world,  and  Borne  remem- 
bered also  the  black  slaves  who  had  received 
from  capital  neither  a  home  nor  wages.  There 
may  be  defects  in  the  Pullman  idea,  but,  viewed 
from  a  hundred  gambling  dens  and  five  thousand 
saloons,  it  looks  well.  Seen  from  our  city  hall,  it 
looks  like  a  group  of  palm  trees  waving  over  a 
spring  in  the  desert.  While  traveling  through 
hell,  Dante  was  cheered  when,  looking  through 
pitchy  clouds,  he  saw  a  star. 

We  are  not  to  assume  that  the  town  of  Pull- 
man has  reached  its  greatest  excellence.  It  is 
injured  by  the  unrest  of  the  Nation.  Perhaps  many 
of  our  greatest  employers  will,  like  Mr.  Brassey, 
of  England,  decline  to  accept  of  us  profits  beyond 
five  per  cent.  We  must  all  hope  much  from  the 
gradual  progress  of  brotherly  love. 

1bere  tbe  professor's  last  manuscript  enDeO. 


